


Little Stiles

by sunshine (sunshinepiveh)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: ABDL, Age Play, Anal Plug, Chastity Device, Come Inflation, Diapers, Enemas, Fisting, Infantilism, Knotting, M/M, Prostate Milking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 21:47:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 93,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13257285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinepiveh/pseuds/sunshine
Summary: Werewolves are known and live in largely separate societies from humans. Some werewolves will take on human pets or littles to care for as their own. These humans volunteer themselves for the opportunity, sometimes to escape lives they cannot contend with, and often to fulfil certain needs of their own.This is my first story of this sort, where Stiles lives with 24/7 age play under the care of both Derek and Peter (who are not romantically involved with one another). I've read and enjoyed several such fics, many of which are dub-con, but this fic is meant to be read as entirely SSC/RACK. It is also highly sexual age play, so be aware of that going in. All parties are well above the age of consent.I've also taken liberties as to how Stiles' nutritional needs are met, or not textbook safe sexual practices at all times. Please do not use a work of fiction as a guidebook for real play.





	1. Day 0, Monday Night

Stiles looked over the paperwork sitting on his desk yet again. There was a lot of it. A thick packet of explanations and demands for information from him. Places to sign to indicate that he fully understood what he was getting into, and places to sign to waive certain rights while retaining others, although he wasn’t sure exactly who the signatures were for. What he was thinking of getting himself involved in wasn’t exactly covered by human law.

 

There were a number of supernatural creatures in this world. Some were a problem, hands down. Some didn’t seem to bother anyone at all. Werewolves were in a certain grey area, a class all their own, and there were enough of them that they had a certain sway against human laws. There were vast preserves and territories occupied by the weres alone, and there they largely governed themselves. The system worked, for the most part, and rarely did the human and werewolf worlds have cause to meet.

 

But there was a contingent of werewolves, Stiles had found out -- a small, niche little group of them, who had taken their supernatural superiority to a kinky extreme. And those individuals sought out humans to keep, basically as pets.

 

Stiles wasn’t new to the kink scene by any stretch. At twenty-two years of age, he’d struggled through college on his own, and had needed a certain outlet. He’d played the Dom (which he’d hated), the sub (which he’d tolerated), and had even had largely egalitarian relationships with kinky play of various sorts. He’d tried out men and women, with only a slight preference for men. He’d been a dog for one partner and a little boy for another. And that last was the most fulfilling experience of all, by far.

 

Because Stiles hadn’t had a chance to be a child since he was nine years old, really. That’s when he’d lost his mother, and the result was a need to help take care of his crumbling father. His dad had tried his best, but he hadn’t perhaps handled it well, and Stiles had had to grow up fast. Twice. Losing his dad to his dangerous job in high school had forced Stiles to immediately become a fully fledged adult. One with inheritance, and bills. One with a need to go to college, but no idea how it was done, and no guidance.

 

Now at twenty-two, he had a history degree and no decent job prospects unless he went to graduate school. His ADD had barely handled undergrad and neither his wallet nor his soul could countenance going back for more, at least not yet. But working at a gas station like he was some tenth grader wasn’t going to pay off his student debt any time soon, and he was tired of living in a roach infested apartment. He needed help. He wanted out.

 

He’d tried to lose himself in his leisure hours, as much as one could, but it was never enough. And much to his despair, no long-term Dominant wanted to be saddled with Stiles’ student debt and lack of job prospects. It sounded like a great way to divest himself of crushing responsibilities on paper, but no one was dumb enough to want to take that kind of burden on. And certainly there was an ever shrinking pool of people who wanted age play as something more permanent. Stiles didn’t have a particular age in mind, but anything below his actual age people shied away from when it came to long term.

 

And so, there were the wolves.

 

Some wanted a pet. Some wanted a servant. But some... some wanted a sort of child. And the wolves, it turned out, were long-lived, and didn’t shy away from the long term. And the wolves, so it seemed, existed in a state of legal limbo, where someone like Stiles could lose his debts and obligations to the human world for at least as long as he’d agree to live on the preserve.

 

He looked around his dingy apartment, his hands sweating. None of the furniture was his, and all of it was defective. The mattress was so warped and lumpy that he’d seriously considered sleeping directly on the floor, though that would bring him closer to any number of various bugs he hadn’t quite managed to banish. In his kitchenette, there were stacks of take out containers that he really couldn’t afford, but he’d never had the time to learn to properly cook and still didn’t have the time now, with his insane hours. The thought of work brought his eyes to a wrinkled uniform and nametag. A gas station. Really. It made him cringe.

 

His eyes slid back to the thick packet of papers. There was no one really to inform. Stiles hadn’t had any close friends since high school. All of his high school friends had managed to fall away during college, when they’d all seemed to find productive lives and Stiles had seemed to suffocate. As far as his meagre belongings, his apartment, his bank account and so on -- the agency had assured him that they would take care of all of that. In fact, the packet of papers explained exactly how all of it would work, in great detail. Stiles had read it at least three times.

 

There was nothing left to sign at this point. Signing had been as easy as breathing. A weight lifted off of his chest with each signature added to the pile. A way out. He’d found a way out. Someone to take care of him, and take him away.

 

All he had to do now was go back to the agency, on the far end of town at the edge of the preserve. Hand over his papers, and his person, and his life. It was one final, very big step to make. Was he really doing this? His mind struggled to fully process the fact that he could walk there now, and miss his shift at the gas station tonight. He could miss it permanently. Or he could work his shift, he supposed, and eat take out, and do it all again. Until... what? What was the alternative plan? He didn’t have one.

 

~~~

 

Stiles walked into the building without much difficulty. Though it was in a poor area of town, and though most humans avoided anything remotely near the preserve, he hadn’t had any difficulty getting there, or getting in. There was no security posted at the door. No metal detectors. Hell, no cameras that he could see, and he had a decent eye for it, growing up around law enforcement.

 

The entryway and the private office he’d seen previously weren’t sterile at all. They had neither the look, nor smell, nor feel of other official buildings Stiles had been in, like banks or office buildings or doctors offices or the school bursar. It was clean and bright, not exactly lived in he supposed, and yet it had more the feel of someone’s living room rather than office.

 

A woman was at the front desk when he walked in. A sturdy wood desk, like something out of Mad Men, and her cat-eye glasses evoked another era, though her clothes looked modern and comfortable enough. “May I help you?” she asked pleasantly, and Stiles eyed her speculatively. Was she one of them? He never was certain who might be a werewolf. It would make sense if one of their own worked at the agency, but then again they might hire humans. He really didn’t know.

 

At any rate, she wasn’t the woman he’d met with previously. “Yes. Uhm.” Stiles pulled his stack of papers out of his messenger bag and slid it over her desk. His palms were sweating and his heart was hammering in his chest, and he was starting to feel dizzy, but it wasn’t exactly a panic attack. He was intimately familiar with panic attacks. No, now it was simple nerves. This was kind of a big deal.

 

The woman’s eyes lit on the papers with comprehension as she began to page through them. She smiled warmly at him. “I see. Why don’t you sit down while I go over these?” she offered, nodding to the comfortable chair at an angle to the desk. Stiles sat immediately, grateful for some direction, as he wasn’t sure what to do here. His leg bounced nervously and he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, twisting them into the hem of his t-shirt and fussing with the strap of his bag.

 

The woman took her time. Of course she would. It would take time to read through something so lengthy. But at last, she looked up at him again.

 

“Everything seems to be in order here,” she glanced down again, “Stiles. If you’re certain?”

 

“Yes,” Stiles hurried to agree, desperate now that he was here to get this over with. To get to the next step.

 

The woman smiled that warm smile again. “Wonderful. Then I believe we’ll get you settled in. Have you eaten yet tonight?”

 

It was around eight o’clock now, Stiles guessed, when he factored in when he’d left and how long he’d been there, though he didn’t see a single clock. “Uhm.” His mind blanked. “I ate kind of a late lunch?” he hazarded a guess. “Around three?”

 

“We’ll get you on a regular schedule soon enough,” the woman, whose name he still didn’t know, reassured him. “Our evening meal has already passed, but I’ll let them know to give you something light before we get you settled.” She was typing on her computer. Stiles supposed she was letting someone know something about his situation, as she’d indicated, though he couldn’t see the screen.

 

“Meryl will be through in just a moment. She’ll help get you oriented and settled in for the night.”

 

“Oh. Okay. Great,” Stiles said stiltedly as his mind spun out in a hundred directions.

 

“We’ll take possession of what you’ve brought with you,” the woman reminded him, and he nodded. He’d had an in-depth conversation about it already at his preliminary interview. “It says here that you take Adderall. Do you have it with you now?”

 

“Uh, yeah.” He fished in his bag for his pills.

 

The woman nodded. “Meryl will take that as well. Just let her know when you’ve last had your dosage and we’ll be sure to work the medication into your schedule. Future prescriptions will be taken care of. You don’t have to worry about that.”

 

Stiles felt a warmth run through his chest. Even when his father had taken care of him, it hadn’t been a given that he’d have his meds. Sometimes there was the threat of low income and high expenses hanging over their heads. His dad would try to shield him from that, but he always knew. Sometimes it was the fact that neither of them was great at keeping track of when Stiles needed a new order, and days, weeks, or even months could go by before the situation would be remedied. But now the agency would take care of it. And later, his new guardian -- whatever wolf they’d vetted, and who would choose him. He wouldn’t have to worry about his basic well-being again.

 

The woman at the desk was clearly prepared to say more about what was to come, but just then a bright-eyed blonde stepped up to the desk from seemingly nowhere. Stiles hadn’t really been paying attention.

 

“Stiles?” she questioned.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I’m Meryl. I’ll help you settle in for the evening. If you’ll come this way?” She held out her arm to usher him, and Stiles stood up, hitching his bag over his shoulder.

 

“Let me take that for you,” she offered, holding out a hand. It felt weird to let some woman take his bag for him, the opposite of what he’d been conditioned to do, but Stiles fought with his conditioning for a second as he realized she wasn’t really offering. It wasn’t really his anymore.

 

“Oh. Right,” he said with a sort of dazed blink as he handed it over, but Meryl acted as if neither of them had missed a beat. “And these are my meds.” He handed that over as well, the pill bottle still having been clutched in his hand.

 

“Perfect. When was your last dose?” she asked with a tone of casualness. “Do you remember?”

 

“I think this morning... probably around ten o’clock?”

 

“Thank you, Stiles.” She smiled as if she were pleased with him, and Stiles felt pleasant goosebumps emerge across his skin in response. “That should be easy to work into your morning routine.”

 

They’d passed through the entry room and down a hallway, and were coming to a set of thick wooden doors. They looked sturdy, but incongruous with the current era. Everything here was a sort of anachronistic hodge-podge of old and new. The werewolves, it seemed, operated within an entirely different set of cultural preferences.

 

“Right through here,” she said, opening the door with a large metal key, and then locking it again behind them.

 

Stiles looked around at a dining hall straight out of Hogwarts. Okay, so maybe there wasn’t anything actually magical in evidence, and it was quite a bit smaller, but it had the same sort of wooden tables and chairs, and an air of majesty.

 

“This is where you’ll take your meals for as long as you’re with us,” Meryl explained, though she was already leading the way into the kitchen in the back. Again, Stiles was struck by how it was nothing like a school cafeteria, or any industrial kitchen he was familiar with. It was certainly large enough to accommodate the facility, but it was homier, with an old world flair.

 

The dinner hour had already passed and the dining hall was empty and clean, but here in the kitchen a man and a woman were still cleaning piles of dishes by hand.

 

“Jason, Beth, this is Stiles,” Meryl introduced, as everyone made their polite hellos. “Jason if you could heat up some simple broth for Stiles that would be wonderful. And perhaps some herbal tea? We’ll come back through after Stiles has had a shower and a change of clothes.”

 

“Of course.” Jason grinned at the two of them, and Stiles found himself wondering if every single person in this facility was always this genuinely cheerful. He couldn’t remember the last time someone in the human world had smiled at him sincerely, but he couldn’t detect any of that forced falsehood from these people. It unnerved him just how much he wanted to believe it was real.

 

Meryl was already striding ahead through a muted hallway with dim lights and a scrubbed wooden floor. A communal bathroom was next on the list, though it too was eerily quiet. White porcelain tiles gleamed out at him, and he took in the series of sinks, toilets, and shower stalls. Unlike in his previous dorm room, however, here and there were signs of life -- not shower baskets whisked back into private rooms.

 

The sinks had toothbrushes neatly in their loops on the wall, a clean glass beside each, and a tube of nondescript toothpaste, though each person seemed to have their own, and there was some slight variety. Apparently you could have preferences? Or perhaps your toothpaste was assigned randomly, or maybe it had to do with physical needs? At any rate, Stiles didn’t get a chance to ask about it.

 

Along a wall near the showers, Stiles could see a variety of coloured fluffy towels hung with varying degrees of neatness, all in a row. The floor and the sink were wet, as well as most of the towels. Stiles looked to Meryl questioningly.

 

“At our particular facility, our boys and girls go to bed by eight o’clock. I’m sure everyone’s guardian will have their own preferences but that’s the routine we’ve set,” Meryl explained. She opened a closet door against the wall and pulled out a fresh towel and a washcloth, which she handed to Stiles. A bar of soap. A bottle of two-in-one shampoo and conditioner. A toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste.

 

“If you require anything else, let me know,” Meryl told him. “Some of our little ones prefer to floss, others use mouthwash. If you don’t like a particular scent or taste provided, let one of the caregivers know about it and we’ll do our best to make you more comfortable. Though as I’m sure you know, wolves can be quite sensitive to scents as well, so you might not have as much variety as you’re accustomed to.

 

“As for shaving, you’ll be allowed access to shaving supplies as needed but only while supervised. Many guardians will choose to depilate their little ones but we prefer to leave the decision up to the guardian. Let’s see, what else....” Meryl seemed to be counting items on her fingers as she thought. “Ah. Deodorants and perfumes of any sort are strictly forbidden. Again, wolf preference.”

 

Meryl held out her arm toward the row of stalls. “You’ll find there’s ample shelf space in most of the stalls for your things. Simply set up where you find spare room,” she explained. “You can leave your old clothes on one of the benches,” she pointed along the wall under the towels. “While you wash up, I’ll go get you some clothes, and we’ll save brushing our teeth for after meal time.”

 

Stiles stood in the middle of the bathroom for a moment as Meryl left, and hesitated on what to do first. He peeked into a few of the shower stalls until he found one with space on the ample tiled shelving set into the wall, and placed his soap, shampoo, and washcloth, hoping that he’d remember which one was his. Then he traced back to the wooden bench and began to strip, feeling intensely self conscious. Meryl could return at any moment, he knew. In fact, he’d signed whole sheaves of paper regarding his nudity, allowing guardians access to his body in any number of ways.

 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want it, of course, but baring himself now made his decision more real. As he placed his clothes on the bench before him, he thought about how he might never see them again. Not if he stuck to the program. His heart clenched as he remembered some of his more treasured items. A prized photo album in his apartment was among them. The agency would keep it for him, and then his guardian. If it seemed like it would be good for him, he might be given access to it one day. But until then, they would keep it to help him with his transition, unless and until he should opt out.

 

Stiles’ hands shook as he placed the last of his clothes on the messy pile, and he moved into his shower stall to clean himself with the mostly unscented soaps. Because the werewolves preferred it. Again, Stiles found himself wondering whether Meryl was a wolf. Or the woman at the desk. How many wolves were in this building, right now? How soon until he met one face to face? Had he already? And when he did, when he met a potential guardian and knew they were a wolf, would he actually be able to tell? Would he ever see one of them in their shifted form?

 

Stiles emerged from his stall to towel himself off, and flushed when he realized Meryl had indeed returned. She made no effort to avert her eyes, any more than a parent would to a small child.

 

His old clothes, he noted, were already absent, and in their place were some soft pyjamas, not unlike what he’d normally wear. Some soft drawstring pants. A slightly baggy t-shirt. Both of them nondescript. A similarly plain pair of tighty whities completed the look, and Stiles flushed a shade darker when he spotted them atop the pile. He hadn’t worn that style of underwear for years now, preferring boxers.

 

Meryl stopped him before he could reach out to begin dressing. In her hand was a device he’d seen before but never tried. A cock cage. “I’m afraid we can’t trust new boys not to try something naughty,” Meryl told him with a sparkle in her eyes. “Let’s just take care of this and you can get dressed.”

 

Stiles had known he was agreeing to any of a number of chastity devices, so it wasn’t as if it was a shock. Still, he tried to keep his eyes on a point on the wall as Meryl fussed with his genitals for a moment, efficiently locking his soft cock into a small cage.

 

“Any discomfort?” She drew Stiles back into his body, to the present moment.

 

He shifted a bit from foot to foot. The cage felt new, and there was a weight to it, a new pressure at various points. But no, no real discomfort. He shook his head. For once in his life, his words were scarce. He was grateful that at least Meryl seemed satisfied and he rushed through putting on the rest of his clothes.

 

“Come along then, Stiles.” Meryl ushered him back through where they’d come from, into the kitchen. By the time they arrived, the dishes had been cleaned and there was no sign of Jason or Beth, but a bowl of chicken broth had been left out for Stiles along with a small crust of bread, and a cup of chamomile tea. He sat down at the little counter, glad that he didn’t have to sit out in the large dining hall alone in the night. Though it couldn’t really be said to be night either. Not at eight thirty, with the summer sun still in the sky.

 

Stiles would have had work scheduled tonight. His hours were sporadic. But tonight he was scheduled to work, and as such he was wide awake. And hungry, as it turned out. He’d always struggled with self care, and this small meal was enough to settle his nerves and his stomach. While he ate, Meryl prattled on to him about how his schedule would go, how the facility worked, a number of things he knew the gist of already from his previous interview and the sheaf of papers.

 

When Stiles finished eating, he was led back to the bathroom to brush his teeth and use the toilet. It was weird sitting to pee with the cage, but at least he had the relative privacy of a stall while Meryl waited just outside. And then he was led to a large dark room, full of the sounds of sleeping.

 

Each bed, he could see in the dim light, was some cross between a bed and a crib. There was a bit of slatting on either side, as if to keep a child from falling out of a bunk bed, but not quite high enough to count as a true crib. Here at the facility, Stiles understood, none of the “children” had an “age”. That was something to be decided between the little and his or her guardian. Some would be kept nearly as infants, with deference to their adult needs, while others would live as old as teens, and everything in between.

 

Stiles tried to get a quick count of how many people like him were here, just as he’d done in the bathroom earlier. As near as he could tell, there were perhaps ten of them at any one time. Most of them had had to travel to reach this place. It was unusual that Stiles had already lived so near to the preserve.

 

Several beds were empty but Meryl led him to one in particular, and he crawled in over the little wooden barrier, settling himself under the cover and sheet as Meryl helped him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had actually tucked him in. She smoothed his hair once he was settled and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Sleep well, Stiles,” she whispered to him, and it was so far from his usual life that Stiles didn’t have a clue how he was meant to respond. Before he could let it worry him, however, Meryl had crept from the room and closed the door behind her, leaving him in the dim quietude of the sounds of sleep.

 

Stiles laid in the dark, trying to make out the dim forms of the others through the slats of his bed rail. He wasn’t the least bit tired, but he felt soul weary, as if he’d just been through an ordeal. He was anxious, and it took quite some time until he was able to slow his heart. This was real. He was really doing this. This room: not his room. These clothes: not his clothes. He shifted under the sheets to find a more comfortable position, and yep: that cock cage, not his cock cage.

 

He wondered whether he should have jerked himself off before coming here. Wondered when he’d next be able to. Somehow, it barely seemed to matter. Not against the larger picture. Someone to care for him. Someone to take his problems away. Stiles turned onto his side and tried to simply listen to the sounds of sleep around him. He was more tired than he’d imagined, and it didn’t actually take him long to fall asleep.

 


	2. Day 1, Tuesday

The children were put to bed at eight o’clock every evening, and woken up at five o’clock every morning. There was a time when Stiles would have said waking up at five o’clock willingly was sacrilege, but after nearly nine hours of sleep he felt ready for the day, and the sounds of others rousing all around him helped him stir to wakefulness as well. The lights above them had been programmed to automatically brighten at a certain hour, and now there was a soft light bathing the bedroom as caregivers streamed in to wake sleepy littles.

Stiles blinked awake and felt a moment of disorientation as he got his bearings. He took a look around at the room that had been too dim to see the night before. 

There were the beds of course, but there were also dressers placed here and there where they obviously shared drawers. Shoes lined neatly along the walls, though even where he saw one or two children dressing none of them put on any shoes. Maybe they were only needed for outings.

There was a large window along the far wall, and he could make out the dim shapes of trees through the glass as the heavy drapes had been drawn open by one of the caregivers milling around. Though now it was still too early for the sunrise, so Stiles still couldn’t make out much of the preserve beyond.

The floor was wooden. Stiles remembered reading something in his packet, again about wolves and smells. A carpet would hold strange smells longer, so it was easier for the facility to keep things clean and fresh if they avoided carpets. Though there were a few colourful rugs spread about here and there.

“You must be Stiles,” a friendly man said above him. Stiles felt small, lying on the low bed below him, and he felt a squirmy, pleasant feeling fill his stomach at the contrast. Slowly he sat up. “I heard you’d arrived last night. Let me show you where you can get dressed. Then we use the toilet and brush our teeth before meeting in the dining hall for breakfast,” the man explained, though Meryl had given him a basic run down the night before while he’d eaten.

Stiles was surprised to see both boys and girls in the bedroom in various states of undress. Everything at the facility was co-ed, and there were no attempts at modesty. He caught a glimpse of the blonde girl next to him with her pants down, and saw something peeking out of her own underwear. Apparently even the girls had to wear some sort of chastity device.

The clothes Stiles was offered weren’t that much different from his pyjamas. There were pants, but they were soft cotton, and were only just a step above sweats. There was a t-shirt again, this time less baggy and slightly more structured or fitted than his pyjama shirt had been. And socks.

The bathroom was noisy, and the dining hall was noisier, as his fellow littles woke up more with each passing activity. Stiles sat hesitantly at an empty place beside the blonde girl he’d seen earlier in the bedroom.

“I’m Erica,” she said with a grin, and it was weird to see someone so “in character” outside of a scene. There was no lisp, no exact mannerism that Stiles could put his finger on, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Erica was little, right at this exact moment. All of them were, of course, and here and in their future it wouldn’t be a character they wore only for scenes. Here, it was safe to just be small. Though Stiles was a little hesitant to let that part of himself free. Not fully. Not yet.

“Stiles,” he offered, his attention split in a hundred different directions. The chatter around him, the array of faces and clothes. The architecture of the dining hall itself. The caregivers weaving in to set various foods on the table before them, offering here and there to help serve someone.

“Please take your morning medicine for me, Stiles.” One of the caregivers caught his attention, holding out a familiar pill.

Oh. His Adderall. Right. Stiles took the pill and swallowed it down. This was probably the first time he’d ever taken his medication first thing in the morning. He normally wasn’t focused enough to remember. 

“Thank you, Stiles. Good boy,” the man told him easily. It was clearly something he was used to saying all the time, but Stiles wasn’t at all used to hearing it, and he flooded with warmth at the praise for doing something so simple. “What would you like to eat, sweetheart? We’ve got eggs, toast, pancakes, and oatmeal today.” The man tried to make the choices simple, though Stiles could also see fruit and juice making their way around the table.

“Uhm.” Stiles blinked.

“Are eggs okay?” the man asked, taking the decision away from him.

“Yes,” Stiles answered, and before he could reach for anything himself the man was helpfully heaping scrambled eggs onto Stiles’ plate. Toast was added as well, and Stiles was bold enough to snag a few grapes as a plate of fruit made its way past him.

The food was practically a feast to someone used to cold cereal for breakfast except on special occasions. And this was how they ate every day? Hogwarts, Stiles reiterated mentally. This place was Hogwarts.

“This place is Hogwarts,” Stiles found himself saying aloud.

Beside him, Erika giggled into her pancakes. “You’re not the first person to say that.”

“Really?”

“Dude. You’re in a house full of littles and they have a freakin’ castle sized table for us. We’ve been trying to give the caregivers Hogwarts names for weeks. Cathy is McGonagall. John is Flitwick.” She started naming off on her sticky fingers.

Stiles grinned listening to her, and some bit of tension in his shoulders eased away as he settled into is younger mindset. He didn’t have the slightest idea what the caregivers’ names were, but Erika helpfully pointed out a few of them bustling around the room. Stiles laughed uproariously as Erika explained why they were given certain monikers and lost himself in a fit of actual giggles when the dog jokes started, though he was afraid they were in poor taste, and they might get in trouble. But those caregivers who meandered around the room clearly heard such conversations often enough, and only rolled their eyes fondly.

~~~

After breakfast, there was play time in the toy room. Stiles followed the others in as they were ushered there, and his eyes almost bugged out of his head at the bounty laid out before him. Every manner of children’s toy seemed to be made available to them, for all various age ranges, and the others seemed to switch between them indiscriminately. Stiles wasn’t even sure what he wanted to play with first, but that decision was taken from his as well when the same man who had woken him that morning -- Aaron, it turned out -- showed up and called Stiles away from the others.

“We’re just going to take a little trip to see our doctor, Stiles,” Aaron explained, as Stiles gave a last reluctant look at the toy room as he was led away. “All of our littles get a complete check up just in case there’s anything that needs to be addressed.”

“Kay,” Stiles answered idly as he followed Aaron along the hall. Though he’d only just begun his stay, the longer he was here, the longer others directed him, the easier it was for Stiles to simply fall into his role and let go.

The facility, Stiles was beginning to realize, was absolutely huge. Of course, he’d been able to tell that somewhat from the outside, but inside it was the Tardis and Hogwarts all in one. Or maybe it just felt that way with the twisting hallways. As Aaron led him along, somehow they avoided the entranceway altogether and ended up in what had to be a different wing of the building. Like the rest of the place, it was unlike any doctor’s office Stiles had ever seen.

It was warm and inviting. There was an actual honest to god bed in the room instead of the hellish folding bench that was in most doctors offices. No crinkling paper spread over it, but rather freshly starched sheets. Stiles was asked to undress, but wasn’t given any privacy or a gown as he did so. Not that he needed one for physical comfort; here it was warmer than the rest of the building, so that he didn’t even have goosebumps when he was bare.

“Hello, Stiles.” A black man greeted him upon entry. No lab coat, just ordinary clothing. “I’m Doctor Deaton.”

“Hello,” Stiles answered a bit shyly. He was, after all, naked and in a cock cage in front of two strangers, as Aaron also hadn’t bothered to leave the room, instead sitting in what looked to be a relatively comfortable chair. There were no harsh lights here, though there was plenty of light, and even a glass brick wall to let in natural light from outside without anyone else seeing in. Now, well after breakfast, Stiles could see the morning sun lighting up the day.

Deaton prattled on about what he was going to do, asking Stiles the innocuous questions of every doctor’s appointment he’d ever had, and Stiles felt himself fairly at ease, though he’d never liked medical visits very much. Deaton listened to his breathing and his heart, took his pulse and his blood pressure. A scale against the wall took his height and weight.

“Alright, Stiles,” Deaton said after he’d thoroughly exhausted all of the routine doctoring he could possibly do. “Now I’m just going to take a bit of blood, and then do a quick prostate exam.”

“Wait, what?” Stiles asked, nerves immediately flaring back to life. Whatever sense of security he’d been lulled into was shattered at the prospect of both needles, and moving straight to an inspection of his ass without so much as a minute of foreplay. His heart hammered in his chest and he looked to Aaron for some sort of rescue.

Aaron frowned and came over to the bed immediately, giving Deaton a warning look. “What are you nervous about, sweetheart?” Aaron asked him, sitting next to Stiles and looping an arm around his bare shoulders. He pulled Stiles against his chest and Stiles shivered, allowing himself to be held while he kept a wary eye on the doctor.

“I don’t like needles,” Stiles admitted in a shaky voice. He’d never actually had blood taken before. There’d never been any reason to, and he didn’t know why he needed to now.

“You read your information packet,” Aaron reminded him calmly. “We’ll do a general blood test, but we’re also testing for STDs. Not that a werewolf could catch or spread them, but for your own well-being. You can understand that, can’t you?”

Stiles nodded his head jerkily and closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing and the soothing rub of Aaron’s palm on his back. It was so nice, he could almost forget the disparity in their clothing.

“Why don’t we start with the prostate exam, hm?” Aaron prompted him with a nudge. “Doctor Deaton won’t hurt you. He hasn’t hurt you yet, has he?”

“No,” Stiles mumbled, turning his head further into Aaron’s chest, desperate for more of the comfort being so freely offered to him.

“Good boy,” Aaron praised him, though Stiles couldn’t imagine for what. He was having a minor breakdown over a routine exam. Nonetheless, he melted a little when Aaron pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head. “Would you like me to hold you for this next part, Stiles?” Aaron asked him. Though Stiles had known this man for only a few short hours, it had taken him no time at all to imprint Aaron as a caregiving figure that represented safety and comfort.

Stiles nodded against Aaron’s shirt, not trusting his voice. He was mortified at his reaction, but didn’t want to jeopardize the cuddles and security he was being given.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles stuttered out an apology, feeling the need to at least say something about making a big deal of it.

“Nonsense.” Aaron stopped him before he could go on. “It’s normal to be nervous,” he assured him, and scooted them both back against the wall, sitting sideways on the bed. “Come here.” Aaron arranged Stiles with his back against Aaron’s chest, sitting between Aaron’s spread legs. He hooked Stiles’ ankles outside his own thighs and helped him shift down so that his lower back was against the bed, his ass spread and on display to the doctor before them. Stiles felt vulnerable but grounded against the warm body, and he closed his eyes as he focused on Aaron’s strong arms wrapping around his chest.

Deaton, to his credit, calmly talked Stiles through what he was going to do. The lube, the finger stretching into his nearly virginal ass. Apart from some very minimal solitary exploration, Stiles hadn’t done much back there. He’d had a few male partners over the years, and there was definite interest, but his partnerships had been brief and revolved more around kink than sex. Still, he understood that whoever he ended up paired with might want to do all manner of sexual things with him, including anal play.

Though Deaton’s office lacked the smell of antiseptic, and the doctor himself lacked the tell-tale lab coat, his touch was still that uniquely clinical touch of a professional, even without the use of rubber gloves. Stiles closed his eyes against the invasion and sucked in a surprised breath as he was breached, the finger feeling foreign and the lube still cool to touch.

“That’s it,” Deaton encouraged him, moving with a gentle, slow motion. “Take deep breaths. Try to relax for me.”

Behind him, Stiles could feel Aaron’s own chest move rhythmically, and Stiles’ breathing naturally tried to sync. Aaron’s fingers brushed against his stomach in soothing circles as Stiles’ tense muscles slowly eased back into a loose-limbed posture.

The finger was still foreign perhaps, but it also felt rather nice now as he felt himself open up. Deaton eased in a second finger and Stiles definitely felt the stretch, but before he could worry over it, the doctor brushed something very interesting inside of him. His prostate.

Stiles gasped and twitched at the contact, his eyes flying open of their own volition. Between his legs, Deaton had a small smile. “There it is,” he pronounced, as if it weren’t obvious. In its cage, Stiles’ cock tried valiantly to erect.

“When was it you last ejaculated, Stiles?” Deaton asked him.

“Uhm,” Stiles answered dumbly. His breathing and heart rate were increasing now for a very different reason from earlier. Rather than anxiety, he was flooded with arousal. His skin flushed pink and he really wanted to get his cock out of its uncomfortable confines. “Two days ago?” he guessed, trying to recall specifically.

“That’s good. You’re feeling a bit full right now. I’m going to empty you out, and that should make you feel nice and relaxed before you go,” Deaton told him. Stiles wondered if that meant what he thought it meant: orgasm. But Deaton didn’t remove his cock cage, and Stiles’ mind was feeling rather sluggish right now with everything that had gone on. But he’d seen enough porn and done enough reading to know, and some corner in the back of his mind supplied the answer. They were milking him. He’d seen it done in porn and he knew the theory, but experiencing it was another thing altogether.

It wasn’t that it wasn’t arousing... it was. But it wasn’t the explosion he was used to. Rather an almost irritating, low-level simmer that culminated in the release of cum and a lack of pressure. A relief of sorts, he supposed, but with that itch of arousal still under his skin, unsatiated. He’d not had much of an opinion before, but now he found himself hoping that whatever guardian he eventually wound up with wasn’t into long-term chastity.

The cage was removed too little too late. Just long enough to clean Stiles well, and then put back in place over his flaccid member. 

He was physically tired from the ordeal, still horny and uncomfortable, and had about reached his emotional limit for the day. Stiles curled into Aaron’s embrace again and turned his head away as Doctor Deaton gathered his supplies to draw blood. These were the first obviously sterile, traditionally doctor-y things Stiles had seen in this place.

At least Stiles was fairly relaxed from the ejaculation, even if it wasn’t a true orgasm, but he still didn’t like the look of the needle. Nor the feel of it. He whimpered slightly with the pain of it, and felt Aaron’s strong hand encircle his wrist.

As the pain miraculously drew out of him, Stiles opened his eyes curiously just in time to see blackness crawl up Aaron’s arm and disappear. His eyes widened in slight surprise. So. Aaron at least was a werewolf, though he couldn’t be sure of anyone else. Rather than feeling nervous about the revelation, Stiles felt only curiosity, and that was enough of a distraction that he was barely aware of the rest of the blood draw.

A slight pinch when the needle was removed and Deaton plastered a neon blue bandaid over the small wound while Aaron drew any last tendrils of pain from Stiles once more.

“Neat trick,” Stiles murmured as he watched the black disappear once more into the werewolf’s skin.

“It comes in handy.” Aaron offered a small smile. “Let’s get you dressed, baby boy, and see what the others are doing.” Aaron cocked his head and glanced toward the glass bricks. 

Stiles still hadn’t seen any sign of a clock in this place, but whether Aaron was trying to gauge the sun or hear something in the distance Stiles couldn’t be sure. In any case, he seemed to decide something with regards to the schedule. “It’s about time for outdoor play,” Aaron informed him as he finished getting dressed. “We’ll head back to the room to grab your old shoes, then spend some time in the preserve.”

~~~

Stiles had been in nature before of course. He’d even gone camping. But nothing could prepare him for the majesty of the preserve.

There was a sharp line dividing the human world from that of the wolves. Sometimes it was a rusty chain link fence, and sometimes an actual wall. Sometimes it was a series of buildings, or an abandoned lot, but always there was a clear line of demarcation between the paltry human “wilderness”, cultivated to within an inch of its life, and the wild nature of the preserve.

All around him now were trees as tall as any Stiles had ever seen. Greenery and dappled sunlight. Earth, moss, ferns, and grasses at his feet. Tangles of shrubs so thick he couldn’t hope to pass through them, and tamped down trails to follow in any direction. In the distance, Stiles could hear the shrieks and laughter of the others as they approached, Aaron indulgently letting Stiles lead the way.

The air felt cleaner here, and Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt a breeze or the sun on his skin for no other reason than to feel it. The weather had always been an additional complication for him on his way somewhere. Getting wet in the rain, or cold in the winter. The wind whipping his clothes or bag away from him or billowing dust into his eyes. The sun baking sweat out of him, making him sticky and uncomfortable for his shift. The outdoors had been largely something to be avoided, or tolerated at best.

At the next clearing, Stiles could finally make out the others, running around in some version of tag, trying to climb trees with low enough branches. He ran to Erika to ask what she was doing and join in, as she was the only little he’d really talked to thus far. It wasn’t long before he’d been drafted to help her chain wildflowers together like some children out of a fairy tale.

“Did you know Aaron’s a wolf?” Stiles asked as he sat in the dirt, tolerating the flowers Erika had draped over him. He watched her busy fingers work the fragile stems and wondered how she managed it.

“Yeah. Most of them are wolves. Maybe all of them.” She shrugged. “I haven’t bothered to try and keep track. Does it matter?” she asked. “I mean, that’s why we’re here isn’t it?”

“I guess so. Have you gotten to see any though? Like shifted?”

“Why would they shift?” Erika asked in confusion. “It’s safe here, and they leave to go do their wolfy things on the full moon somewhere else if they have to.”

“Oh.”

“Did you want to see them all wolfed out?” Erika quirked a brow at him.

“Why wouldn’t I want to?” Stiles asked, just as baffled at Erika’s nonchalance. “I mean, they’re werewolves,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“Maybe it’s a boy thing.” Erika shrugged again.

~~~

By ten o’clock, the sun was high in the sky, and the outdoor play time had been called to an end. Everyone was marched indoors again to wash hands. By ten thirty, the littles were clean and in the library, yet another new room for Stiles. There were books upon books, on shelves and some scattered on tables and the floor. There were sofas and chairs and a bench seat by a bright window.

For now, a woman named Anna had watch. She settled on one of the sofas with some book the others seemed to be familiar with, and two of the other children followed her eagerly to hear her read aloud. Everyone else ignored Anna and scattered throughout the room, finding a comfortable seat and a book of their preference to read quietly from. Much like the toy room, there were books for every age. Stiles saw a boy who had to be a bit older than himself settle on one of the rugs with a stack of picture books, and shook his head at the madness of this place. Not that it was a bad thing. It was a welcome madness, even if he didn’t yet know his own place.

The questions about his kinks, preferences, and lifestyle had been extensive. Some of those pertained to his mental and emotional age, though such an age didn’t directly correlate with that of a real child. And since Stiles had had very little experience with age play in his life, he didn’t really have a strong preference. Would he wear diapers if asked, or did he prefer to retain control of those bodily functions? Could he be content with bottle feedings if they met his nutritional needs, or did he think he’d miss solid foods? And what of toys, of crafts, of stories? For all of that, Stiles didn’t really know. But weirdly, none of the suggestions listed in his paperwork threw an immediate red flag for him. He was willing to try nearly anything. And the agency had assured him that if he found a limit through experience, he could always ask for a new guardian better suited to his needs.

Now, he simply paced slowly through the room, reading titles. Treasure Island. Harry Potter. The Sword in the Stone. There were various books he remembered from an earlier age. Well, perhaps not much earlier, in the case of Harry Potter. But did he want to read them now? They weren’t what he’d typically go for if he had time free to read.

On a lower shelf, there were younger titles. Stiles spotted some Goosebumps books he remembered from... middle school? No, possibly elementary. And scattered here and there near the floor were Golden Books of various sorts. Weren’t those considered vintage at this point? And there was a Carebears book he was certain he’d owned when he was ridiculously young. He reached for it and flipped through the heavy cardboard pages, memory tickling just at the edges of his brain. It was familiar, but not quite solid in his mind. He took in the images more than the scant words, and for the next hour found himself flipping through various books on the shelves of every age.

Memories came to him as he fingered through books he recognized and could recall. Back in his apartment, he knew he only had about twenty books these days, and none of them were for kids. After his dad had died, he’d had to sell the house, and along with it everything inside. He simply hadn’t been able to figure out going to college and paying necessary bills like the property tax that would be required on the house, or to keep the lawn mowed (or pay someone for that) while he was away.

He’d thought of having the water and electric turned off while he was gone to save his money. Considered trying to work something out with the taxes. But where was he going to get money for a house when he didn’t even have money for his education, for his dorm? He was living entirely off student loans at the time, and the house had seemed a burden, and more than that, a series of crushing memories from a former life. A home, a family, something he’d never again have. What was he keeping it for? He’d gotten rid of it.

Now, at twenty-two, Stiles had wondered why he hadn’t figured out renting some or all of it out. Wondered why he hadn’t thought to take his time, to keep some things other than a few photos and his father’s badge. He felt gutted at all he’d given away -- his childhood books among them. As a teenager headed off to college, they hadn’t seemed important at the time. Now, he realized he was tearing up over Woodie the Woodpecker.

“Are you alright, Stiles?” Anna stood over him as Stiles blinked back to the present moment. He hastily wiped at his damp cheeks with his palms, dried them on his cotton pants. Sniffled.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he said, hastily shoving the book back onto its proper shelf. He felt self conscious to have been noticed, but as he glanced around, the others were either giving him space politely or simply ignoring him to do their own thing. Anna, however, knelt down beside him and produced a tissue from thin air to wipe at him like a doting mother. His heart clenched at the thought. How long ago had it been since his own mother had done something like that for him?

Stiles tried to get himself back under control, but now that someone was coddling him it was like a dam had burst. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually all out cried, and here he was humiliating himself in front of everyone. That thought didn’t help either. His gut clenched as he let out a sob, his breath hitching as he struggled for air. Now the tissue was up against a torrent.

“What do you need, baby?” Anna asked him, clearly at a loss for how to calm Stiles down. There were no questions about what upset him. He’d been looking at children’s’ books; clearly something had sparked a memory.

What did he want? He wanted to go home to his room. He wanted his dad back. He wanted his things back. He wanted his old life back. But even Scott was gone now, studying still to become a veterinarian somewhere in Texas. And he hadn’t talked to Lydia since she’d moved out to Boston at the start of college.

But barring all of that, he wanted his photo album again, but he knew it was against the agency’s rules. He was supposed to be adjusting to a new life first, but at the moment nothing felt solid or safe at all. Not even these borrowed clothes. He had nothing. The realization made him cry harder.

He’d meant to ask for his photo album, against all logic, but that wasn’t what came out of his mouth when he opened it to respond. “I w-want Aaron,” he sobbed out with a quavering voice. In the span of an hour, he’d already managed to form some sort of bond. Apparently all it took was for the wolf to pull out the tiny sting of pain from a needle. And wasn’t that pathetic? It was such a small kindness.

“Alright baby, we’ll get you Aaron,” Anna told him. Stiles saw her pull a smartphone out of her pocket, a rare piece of technology in this anachronistic facility, and she must have been texting Aaron for help. Stiles didn’t know what Aaron might be doing at the moment, what other responsibilities he had here for the day. He was clearly taking the man away from something more important.

But just minutes later Aaron showed up looking bright and smiling as all the caregivers here, arms held open as if for a hug as he knelt down beside Stiles. Stiles didn’t hesitate to transfer himself from Anna to Aaron’s embrace. At least by now his crying had calmed some, though he looked a mess. And by now, the rest of the littles had made note of his meltdown and were acting tense and shifty.

“Come on,” Aaron told him, sensing the mood of the room immediately. Everyone was upset now. “Let’s go find somewhere quiet to sit.” As if Stiles weighed nothing at all, Aaron scooped him up like a child. And Stiles wasn’t by any means a small man. Perhaps he wasn’t a linebacker, but he was fully grown. It didn’t seem to phase a werewolf though, who somehow managed to tuck in his gangly limbs and make it look natural. He carted Stiles off down the hall as Stiles clung to his neck and shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist.

The halls were a blur to Stiles as he buried his face against Aaron’s neck, but before long they were back in the familiar bedroom, now quiet and empty, with the sun streaming in. Aaron took Stiles to his bed unerringly, then disappeared into the nearby bathroom for a minute. He returned with a glass of water for Stiles, and Stiles wondered whether it was actually his glass, and how Aaron would have known. Werewolves were supposed to have super scent, Stiles remembered vaguely, though he’d never had a chance to actually see it in action, or find out exactly how powerful the ability was.

Stiles dried his face with the bottom of his shirt and accepted the water, sipping at it gratefully. Now that he was relatively calm, he found himself feeling a bit embarrassed at the scene he had caused. And he wasn’t sure about what in the hell he was supposed to tell Aaron now that he was alone with the man. Stiles wasn’t a real child, and Aaron wasn’t his anything.

“Bad memory or good memory?” Aaron prompted him.

Stiles shrugged. That was a complicated answer. How could he sum up the memory of his entire life up to this point? How could he begin to explain why he’d had a mental breakdown over children’s books?

“Would you like to take a walk outside with me for a bit?” Aaron tried another tactic. “Or maybe lie down for a little while?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles answered, overwhelmed. Nothing would help, and he hated being the center of attention at that very moment. “I’m sorry.” He felt the need to apologize for making a fuss, for pulling Aaron away from whatever he’d been doing. For being terrible. “We can just go back or whatever.” He waved vaguely at the door, having no idea where the library was at this point.

“Stiles,” Aaron said warmly as he placed a hand on Stiles’ thigh. “I’m not going anywhere until you’re feeling a little more settled.”

Stiles wanted to lean into the comfort, and wanted to jerk his leg away. He wanted Aaron to coddle him, and wanted to tell Aaron there had been a mistake, get the hell out of here, go back to his dreary apartment.

“Come on,” Aaron told him. “No stewing in bad thoughts.” He stood and held out a hand that Stiles was obviously supposed to take.

Flushing with embarrassment over the enforced dynamic, Stiles stood hesitantly, setting his cup aside, and took Aaron’s offered hand. Aaron’s hand was warmer than his own, and he curled his fingers around Stiles’ firmly, obviously not intending to let go. It took only the slightest of tugs to encourage Stiles to follow Aaron along through the halls.

They headed outside again. Now that the others were indoors somewhere, Stiles was all the more aware of the sounds of nature all around him. Birds. Water from somewhere he couldn’t pinpoint. The wind in the trees. There was still traffic in the distance; they weren’t that far from society. But it was quieter than anywhere downtown, certainly. Calm. Warm.

Rather than take the paths to where they’d been playing earlier, Aaron led Stiles around to another side of the building. Here there was a small pond and a stone bench. Some carefully placed flowers, that could have been wild at one point. It was nice, if a bit boring. Still, Stiles could see the appeal of the little garden, and why Aaron might have chosen it out. A quiet place to gather himself again. Something to look at other than walls. Fresh air and the warmth of the sun.

“Come here, pup.” Aaron tugged Stiles to sit on the bench with him at an angle, such that Aaron could wrap his arms around him again, tugging Stiles into his lap a bit and letting him lean back against his chest. He tucked Stiles’ head under his chin and relaxed. Soon enough, Stiles sighed deeply and went boneless against the firm body. It felt solid. Safe.

They sat that way quietly for a while, and Stiles let himself drift. He felt Aaron’s strength, felt the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He felt the sun on his skin and watched the bees drifting among the flowers. “I don’t know if I can do this,” Stiles confessed after some time had passed.

“Of course you can, sweetheart,” Aaron assured him. He sounded so certain. “You’re already doing it.”

Stiles huffed out a self deprecating laugh. “I had a meltdown over story time.”

“It’s your first day, baby boy. You’re still off kilter. Give yourself some time to adjust.” Aaron’s arms tightened around him, and Stiles realized he was getting hugged. He found himself grinning in spite of his mood, happily burrowing into the affection. He felt needy, touch starved, and hoped he wasn’t being too selfish.

“I didn’t put shoes on,” Stiles realized aloud. After their outing, everyone’s shoes had been left in the bedroom again. Stiles’ socked feet were filthy on the bottom now.

“I know. We’ll change your socks later. Or we won’t.” Aaron smiled with amusement. “I don’t think anyone’s died yet of dirty socks.”

“If you could, I’d have probably died ages ago. My laundry situation is...” Stiles cut himself off. “Well,” he said awkwardly, “it was kind of out of control. But I guess I don’t have to worry about it now.”

“You don’t,” Aaron agreed emphatically. “There’s nothing to worry about or think about as long as you’re with us. We’ll take care of anything you might need. And soon enough, some guardian or other will snatch you up, take you home, and love you just as much as you deserve to be loved. You’ll have a whole closet full of new clothes all your own. A bed, toys. Books. Things you’ll be able to rely on and treasure for ever and ever.”

It sounded nice. No, it sounded perfect. Too good to be true. But then, that was exactly why he was here, right? It was a reminder of why he’d signed practically a whole novel of legalese. It was an extreme step, but it was a step Stiles had taken willingly and with his eyes open.

Still, Stiles’ heart ached to find that one perfect guardian. Or maybe even a pair of guardians; the agency had said that happened sometimes too. Anyone would do really, so long as they would love him. Sitting here with Aaron, Stiles could almost imagine he was with a Daddy instead of one of the agency’s paid caregivers, but he knew it wasn’t so. He wasn’t sure how exactly the economy worked in the were-world, but he knew enough to know that Aaron worked here. It might even be a job that he liked, but it was still a job. To watch over the littles, make sure they were comfortable until someone adopted them and took them away.

“When will they come?” Stiles asked. It was a Tuesday now. He’d come on a Monday, unable to bear the thought of working his Monday night shift.

“Friday is the next meet and greet,” Aaron told him. “But you know you might not be allowed to participate,” he cautioned Stiles as gently as he could.

“I know,” Stiles answered. “But if I adjust. If... if I’m better.”

“Oh sweetheart. You’re perfect right now. You don’t need to be better. You just need to be ready. And when you’re ready, you’ll meet all the potential guardians just like the others, and find someone who is a perfect match for you.”

“But maybe Friday?” Stiles pressed hopefully.

“Maybe Friday,” Aaron conceded, smiling a bit at Stiles’ persistence.

“I think it might be easier,” Stiles continued, feeling as if he had to convince Aaron somehow that he was worthy of consideration come Friday. That he’d be ready. “You know, with a guardian. There’d be... stability,” he said hesitantly, holding back most of what he wanted to say, afraid it would sound selfish. He’d have a room, and someone to love him. He’d have a stable home, and things that were his. Not this transient state of being at the facility. As much as it resembled Hogwarts, he knew it was temporary. Or at least, he hoped so. He couldn’t imagine how he’d deal with it if week after week passed by, and no one wanted him.

“There is that,” Aaron conceded to him. “But are you ready to be loved, Stiles?” Stiles froze in Aaron’s arms. “I don’t mean that you’re unlovable. Anyone would be lucky to have you. But you’ve only just arrived here, leaving behind a whole other life. It can take time to adjust, to settle into your true mindset.”

Stiles pushed the words around in his mind, feeling the shape of them. His true mindset. That of a child. Was that his true mindset? More so than his adult self? He certainly wanted to escape adulthood, and what the agency offered seemed like the ultimate escape. But had he really settled into the new way of thinking, of being? Every time he started to let his guard down, some corner of his mind berated him for it. Reminded him that he should be acting like someone fully grown.

How was he supposed to be the perfect baby boy for someone if he kept dwelling on such overwhelming adult thoughts?

As if sensing what he was thinking about, or maybe just scenting his growing unease, Aaron pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head. “You’ll get there, sweetheart,” he assured him. “Now. I believe it’s about lunch time. Are you ready to join the others again? Feeling a bit better?”

“I think so,” Stiles answered shyly, still feeling a bit embarrassed at his breakdown, though he tried not to dwell on it. He was adjusting, he reminded himself. It was his first day, and things would only get better.

“Good. Up you get.” Aaron took his hand again and led him back into the building, guiding him to the noisy dining hall where lunch, much like breakfast, included a few choices in food. Before Stiles knew it, he was swept up in idle conversation with the others, enjoying his meal as if nothing at all had interrupted their time together, and Aaron took the opportunity to slip away.

~~~

After lunch, though they’d slept a whopping nine hours the night before, was nap time. Stiles wasn’t certain how he’d ever adjust to so much sleep, but the others seemed used to the routine. They were ushered to the toilets, and Anna noticed Stiles’ dirty socks and had him change them before he crawled into his clean bed. Then the heavy curtains were drawn to shut out the afternoon sun, and all went quiet in the bedroom just as it had the night before. Though Stiles didn’t think he’d be the least bit tired, the sounds of the others sleeping was soothing in a way, and his emotional exhaustion eventually overtook him, lulling him to sleep.

Stiles awoke to the sound of others shifting around as the curtains were drawn back and fresh sunlight hit the room. They were ushered into yet another area, this time a craft room. There was everything from yarn to playdough to crayons and everything in between. Rather than ruminate over a lost childhood or some other such depressing thoughts, Stiles was determined to enjoy the moment for what it was, and set himself up with colouring for the next long while. 

He realized at some point as he worked, that he’d completely lost track of time, and he couldn’t remember the last day that he’d felt like that. Adulthood, unfortunately, was a constant exercise in keeping track of his own schedule. And his ADD only made that all the more challenging. Even on his off days when he didn’t have to worry about showing up in time for work or getting adequate sleep, there was a certain consistency to maintain. Sleep schedules, eating schedules, making time to actually keep his apartment and his person relatively clean. Now, all of it was taken care of for him.

He had no idea how long he’d napped for, nor how long they spent in the craft room. The day seemed infinitely long in spite of the hours and hours of sleep. There was even time before supper when they all went back outdoors for one last final breath of fresh air.

Supper time was followed by a flurry of activity in the bathroom. There were multiple caregivers present again to remove and replace various chastity devices and help one of the littles with their socks. To answer irrelevant questions and keep those who were distracted back on track. Once everyone had been showered and brushed their teeth and hair, used the toilet one final time, each and every one of them was tucked neatly into bed. Even if they were perfectly capable of getting under the sheets themselves.

It was exciting in a way, as if they were all gathering for some sleepover. Though it was still ridiculously early in the evening, the curtains had been drawn shut and Stiles was still feeling a bit sleepy from his food, from his hot shower, and from a long day of new activities. With all of that in mind, it was the easiest thing in the world to drop off to sleep.


	3. Day 4, Friday

It did get easier the longer he was there. Stiles had been concerned that he might grow tired of playing the child day after day. That his adult mind might require some further stimulation. He’d always been intelligent, inquisitive, so the thought of playing with children’s toys day after day had worried him slightly. But the facility hadn’t dulled for him yet, not in the slightest.

 

The routine was relatively the same day after day, and as such every moment of Stiles’ life seemed to have something to do. Outdoor play wasn’t walking alone in the woods. It was interactive and energetic. It was exploratory and inquisitive, and there was always something new to see or do.

 

After the meltdown in the library his first day, Stiles had been a bit more cautious and careful about what books he chose, but that too was a time for his mind to expand or rest depending upon his mood. Craft time held a lifetime of new experiences, he could see already. And even independent play time in the morning held the promise of Lego.

 

Wednesday and Thursday passed by without a hitch, and before he knew it, it was Friday.

 

They weren’t expected to line up all in a row like some strange interview or petting zoo. Stiles wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but the reality was actually somewhat boring. The littles, it turned out, were expected only to continue on with their every day routine. The only difference was that those guardians in search of a little would come through at any time during the day and observe them at their play, keeping an eye out for some mystery factor that would endear them.

 

Sometimes the guardians would want to play with one little or another, or have a short conversation. It might have been awkward but for the fact that everyone was used to such interactions from the staff by now so that it didn’t feel much different at all.

 

Stiles wasn’t sure whether he’d been approved, or sanctioned, or whatever it was that the staff would have to do. After all, if he weren’t allowed to be “adopted”, what would they do with him on Friday? Put him in some other room, apart from everyone? Not likely. Not when it would upset him to be so obviously set apart.

 

So he was with the others, and he could see the guardians filter in and out of rooms throughout the day. But he never knew for certain whether he was one of those being considered. He hadn’t been singled out yet, but very few of them had, so that wasn’t much of an indicator.

 

It was nearly supper time when it finally happened.

 

They were out for their last bout of fresh air for the day. Stiles enjoyed his outdoor time more than any other, so he was fairly engaged in trying to boost a kid named Nathan into a tree whose lowest branches were still way too high.  He let out a shriek of laughter as Nathan’s foot slipped again, and tried to grab him anywhere he could reach, pushing, pushing, as Nathan reached.

 

Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of two more strangers, a sight he was accustomed to by now. Two men by the looks of it. Partners? Friends? Brothers?

 

But what was unusual, Stiles realized with a start, was that they were looking at  _him_ as the y murmured in low tones, too far away for him to hear. Stiles’ hand slipped and he fel l to the ground with a loud  _oof!_ , Nathan on top of him.

 

“Man, I was almost there!” Nathan complained, but Stiles was still looking backward across the ground at a now upside-down pair of strangers with eyes on him. He hardly noticed Nathan’s complaints.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, as the less imposing of the two men made eye contact with him briefly, flashing a smile first at Stiles, then at his friend. Stiles’ heart ratcheted up to a million miles an hour. They were interested in him. He could be leaving already. He couldn’t wrap his head around it, excitement and nerves warring for dominance. It could take weeks to get adopted from this place. It usually took weeks.

 

N athan was up and gone by the time the two men had walked over to Stiles, who still laid on the ground blinking up dumbly at their upside-down forms.

 

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” the darker haired man asked. He crouched down next to Stiles.

 

“Yeah. Yeah I’m good,” he answered excitedly as he pushed himself back up to sitting. The world turned the right direction once more. And then the man was _touching him_ , brushing bits of dirt and leaves off his clothes. Stiles’ racing heart kicked up another notch. “Are you going to adopt me?” he blurted out all at once.

 

The man grinned, eyes sparkling, and he turned to look up at his partner who was still standing. Stiles followed his gaze.

 

“Derek --” the standing man warned. His voice was firm, but Stiles could already hear the cracks in his resolve. Like warning a child off of buying a puppy, but the parent was two seconds away from caving. Stiles still couldn’t work out what the relationship was between the two men though.

 

“Come on, Peter. He’s _perfect,_ ” Derek coaxed.

 

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat. This man,  Derek, thought he was perfect. Him. It was unreal.

 

“I see you’ve met Stiles.” Anna made her way over to them.

 

“Stiles.” Derek tested the name out, giving him a smile once more. “That’s an unusual name.”

 

Stiles’ tongue darted out to wet his lips. He was about to explain that his real name was Polish. That it was a nickname. Really, his mouth was gearing up to spout out any stray bit of trivia he could in order to keep Derek’s attention on him.

 

Before he could say anything though, Peter spoke up. “Could we see his file?”

 

Anna hesitated, and Stiles felt his heart sink into his stomach.  _No_ . He hadn’t been approved, had he? And now he had someone who actually wanted him. Derek looked up at Anna as well when she took an extra second to respond.

 

“Yes, of course,” she answered, handing Peter one of the electronic tablets the caregivers had been carrying around all day. Peter’s eyes scanned it rapidly as his fingers flicked from file to file, and Stiles vaguely wondered what information might be contained in it that would be of interest to him. And it must have been interesting, as Peter’s brow quirked.

 

“Although I should warn you, Stiles is quite new here,” Anna explained. “He hasn’t fully settled in yet. If you’re interested in getting to know him, I’d be happy to schedule a return visit with him for next Friday.”

 

Stiles’ eyes filled with tears,  drawing all eyes to him immediately. “But.” His lower lip quivered. “Anna I’ve been  _good_ , I promise. And Aaron said that if I really tried to settle in then maybe I could meet someone on Friday and I haven’t done anything wrong at all since Tuesday and --”

 

“Oh, Stiles,” Anna said pityingly, and Stiles didn’t want to be pitied or calmed. He wanted to be approved to go home with a guardian. He wanted Aaron to come and explain to him what he’d done that wasn’t good enough.

 

Stiles sniffed and scrubbed at wet eyes with the back of a dirty hand. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m sorry,” he rambled. This was what he’d messed up on Tuesday, wasn’t it? He’d had a meltdown, and now he was again. This had to be why they thought he wasn’t ready.

 

Derek, for his part, looked horrified at the turn of events. As if somehow he was personally responsible for the crying little before him.  Peter ignored all of them in favour of continuing to browse Stiles’ file.

 

“We’ll schedule a return visit,” Peter pronounced, apparently satisfied with whatever vital information the file contained.

 

“There, see?” Derek asked Stiles quietly, brushing away his tears with his own cleaner hands. “Next Friday. Can you be a good boy for me until then?”

 

“Uh-huh.” Stiles nodded emphatically, trying to reign his emotions back under control. In a rare miracle, he was being given a second chance at a good impression.

 

“That’s my good boy,” Derek enthused, as above them Peter and Anna talked about more practical matters, though Anna kept a worried eye on Stiles, no doubt itching to try and offer the comfort Derek was already providing.

 

“Stiles, I’m Derek,” Derek told Stiles in a soft voice, as if they were sharing some secret while the “adults” talked above them. “That’s my Uncle Peter.” He nodded his head at the other man. An uncle. So not romantic partners then. But both of them looking to adopt a little into their lives, apparently. “We’re looking for a very special little boy to join our family. Do you think you’d like to have a Daddy?”

 

“Yes,” Stiles answered instantly, before he could even consciously consider the question. His paperwork was all vague, he knew. He’d wanted a Mommy or a Daddy, or whatever the guardian wanted to be called. But now, seeing Derek here before him, he wanted to call the man Daddy more than anything.

 

“I can be good, I promise,” Stiles rushed to assure Derek. His potential daddy. “Whatever you want --”

 

“Shh.” Derek pressed a finger to Stiles’ lips to shush him. “I’m sure you’re a good boy, Stiles. It sounds like you just need a few more days to settle in.” He cocked his head toward Anna and Peter. Stiles had missed the whole of what they’d been saying, but apparently Derek was able to split his attention. “But don’t you worry. In another week we’ll be back just to see you. How does that sound?”

 

“Good.” Stiles’ eyes sparkled with excitement at the prospect. “And then can I go home with you? You’ll still want me?”

 

“We’ll still want you,” Derek reassured him in a calm, measured tone. “As for whether you’ll be able to come home with us, that depends on how you’re feeling, what your caregivers here think would be best for you. After all, I wouldn’t want to overwhelm my brand new baby boy.”

 

A bove them, Stiles noticed Peter was saying something similar. He caught a snatch of the same phrase, which took his attention. “... overwhelm him.”

 

“From what we can tell, he’s a good candidate for your interests,” Anna assured Peter. “He has little experience, but he’s very affectionate and eager to please.”

 

“Do you have an estimate on his regressed age, though?” Peter was asking.

 

Stiles was interested to know as well, as he hadn’t realized that was something the caregivers could gauge, or something they’d want to keep track of. But Derek was speaking to him, and whether intentionally or not, taking up his attention.

 

“Would you like to tell me about some of your favourite things at the facility?” Derek asked him, settling himself onto the ground across from Stiles, sitting cross-legged in the dirt as if it was something he did every day. Perhaps it was. Stiles didn’t really know much about werewolves.

 

“Oh.” He blinked back to the present conversation, tuning Peter and Anna out. “Uhm... I guess I like being outdoors the most.” He smiled. “We didn’t exactly have this much nature where I grew up.”

 

“You like nature?” Derek grinned. “You’ll love our house. It’s pretty deep into the preserve. No immediate neighbours, no light pollution. I’m sure a baby boy like you has a pretty early bed-time, but I’ll bet I could convince Uncle Peter to let you stay up a few nights a year to really see the stars. And during the day of course there will be trees for you to play under, plenty of space to explore, fresh air.”

 

D erek was speaking as if Stiles already had moved in with them, as if it was more or less assured. As soon as the staff here sanctioned him. He was getting excited just listening to Derek speak about his future home. He could almost picture it, especially as they sat here with woods all around them.

 

“You can’t hear the traffic where we’re at,” Derek told him. Here, the traffic was always there in the distance. “And in the winter time, everything in the forest goes still. We don’t get much snow in California of course, but the ground will frost, and the air turns sharp, and everything goes quiet.”

 

“It sounds amazing,” Stiles enthused, his eyes shining. He wanted to go now. “You’ll come back for me, won’t you?” He had to reassure himself one more time. “Next Friday.”

 

“Of course.” Derek took one of his hands, giving it a firm squeeze and simply holding it. “Peter and I will be back bright and early to see how you’re coming along.”

 

“Say goodbye, Stiles.” Anna’s voice cut in, ruining whatever moment they might have had. “It’s time for supper, and Peter and Derek have to get home.”

 

Stiles bit his lip anxiously, glancing around and realizing that yes, the sun was getting to that certain point in the sky, and yes, the others were already being herded together to go back inside. He didn’t want to let Derek’s hand go, didn’t want to say goodbye when their coming back was no guarantee, no matter what Derek had promised.

 

He threw his arms around Derek in a sudden, tight hug, and felt Derek’s hand come immediately around to rub at his back.

 

“Bye, Derek,” he murmured against the man’s firm shoulder. Derek felt a lot like Aaron. Strong. Dependable. Stiles took a deep breath, strengthening himself for the inevitable pull away.

 

“Be a good boy for me,” Derek told him, pressing a kiss to his head, and gently easing him away.

 

“Goodbye, Stiles,” Peter told him more placidly, still giving him a speculative look.

 

“Bye, Peter,” Stiles answered dutifully. He hadn’t had time to get to know Derek’s uncle, but he wanted that man to like him as well.

 

But getting a read on Peter would have to wait, as Stiles was already being ushered away. Supper wouldn’t wait, after all. There was a routine to maintain. Then showers and bedtime to come after that. Stiles did his best to keep his mind on the present, glad of any distraction the facility could offer him. Because his mind was on next Friday already. He could hardly wait.

 


	4. Day 11, Friday

Stiles awoke like he did every other day at the facility. He snuffled a bit, sleepily, and listened to the sounds of the morning people getting up to go, the late sleepers grumbling a bit as they were coaxed. He could hear the stern voice of Cathy urging him to get out of bed before she swept to the next little. Cathy, whom Erika had deemed McGonagall. Kind but strict, and with a touch of grey in her hair at the temples, though her face didn’t show much age.

 

Stiles pulled himself over the edge of his bed and moved to his dresser on auto-pilot, and that’s when it hit him. It had been another week. An impossibly long, time-has-no-meaning week, but he was almost certain today was Friday. Today Derek would come again. And Peter. Derek had all but promised him, and he’d said they’d come bright and early. Maybe not to wake him up, but maybe as early as breakfast. Or free play.

 

Suddenly, there was more pep in his step as he flung on some of the soft, generic clothes that were available to him.  Then there was his trip to the toilet, making sure he’d brushed his teeth, and practically bouncing as he waited until everyone else was finished and they were on their way to the dining hall. As soon as they entered, Stiles scanned the room for any sign of them -- his would-be guardians. But no one had apparently arrived yet.

 

“Take your seat please, Stiles,” Cathy reminded him, and she handed him his familiar pill. He dutifully took a seat and took the medication. Breakfast was less of an ordeal after over a week at the facility. He served himself without the decision having to be made for him, familiar now with the options available to him and knowing what it was that he liked best. He was so jittery though he was about to vibrate out of his skin, and he couldn’t decide whether his nerves made him hungrier or a bit nauseous.

 

By the time the breakfast hour was over, Stiles was feeling more than a little anxious about the fact that there was still no sign at all of Derek. Maybe he wasn’t really coming. Maybe he’d lost interest. Or maybe the caregivers had told him that Stiles still wasn’t ready. He hoped not. He’d really been trying to be a good boy like Derek had told him.

 

As soon as he walked into the playroom though, he saw him. “Derek!” he shrieked with a wide grin, running to the man to fling his arms around him. Though Stiles was technically a fully grown man himself, Derek’s bulk and strength was easily able to envelop him, making him feel suitably small. And the dynamic between them came so naturally.

 

“Good morning, baby boy,” Derek said as he enveloped Stiles in a hug. Stiles buried his face in Derek’s chest, unwilling to let go now that he had him. He took a deep breath and let the subtle scent fill him with the promise of family. Shyly, Stiles peeked out at the sterner of the two men.

 

“Hi, Peter,” he said quietly.

 

“Good morning, Stiles,” Peter answered with a small, amused smile. “Have you been good this past week?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles affirmed, slowly loosening his grip on Derek as Peter took his attention.

 

“Good boy,” Peter told him, ruffling his hair. He wasn’t as warm of a person as Derek, but he was totally focused on Stiles. “Why don’t we spend some time together, darling? Let me see what you’d normally play with.”

 

“Oh.” Stiles blinked. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. Perhaps to be whisked away to Derek and Peter’s home immediately. But he’d seen before that guardians liked to spend time with potential adoptees. “Okay.” Stiles led the way over toward the Lego blocks, hesitantly, seeing whether the other two would follow. To his surprise, it was Derek who hung back a bit and Peter who followed him most willingly.

 

Stiles settled onto the floor and began to build, as he always did.

 

“Do you play with the Lego blocks a lot, Stiles?” Peter asked conversationally.

 

“Uh-huh. Most days,” Stiles confirmed.

 

“So that’s you’re favourite thing to do during free play.”

 

“I guess so.” Stiles shrugged, wondering at Peter’s line of questioning. Perhaps it was just an awkward getting-to-know-you.

 

“And after free play you like to play outdoors. Derek said you told him it was your favourite.”

 

“I think so.” Stiles smiled up at Peter. Derek had been telling Peter about him. “I like the trees,” he confided, recalling what he’d told Derek. “There isn’t that much nature in the human world. Not anywhere I’ve been. Derek says where you live you can’t even hear the cars.”

 

“That’s true,” Peter confirmed. “Is the quiet something you’d like?”

 

Stiles considered it for a moment, having never really thought about it. The world was the volume it was. It was just something to accept as it was. “I guess so,” he mused, still turning the thought over in his head.

 

Peter let the subject drop. “After outdoor play, I understand you have lunch, and then story time.” Peter, Stiles thought, seemed to have pretty good intel on this place, but that was hardly surprising. They probably gave all potential guardians that sort of information. “What would you say is your favourite type of story at story time?”

 

Stiles paused in his building, growing a bit subdued. Story time was still a bit of a touchy subject for him. He usually tried to distract himself while there, to stay in the moment and not think too hard about things he couldn’t have. Books he used to own, parents who used to read him those books.

 

Peter must have scented the change in emotion, or sensed it through Stiles’ body language and silence, because he grew suddenly solemn as well. Peter reached out to push Stiles’ hair from his forehead. “You miss someone,” he said simply.

 

Stiles shrugged, his throat feeling tight. He didn’t really want to get into who he missed, and what had happened to them. Or the childhood he missed and wanted so desperately to recreate.

 

“That’s alright, sweet thing. You don’t have to talk about it,” Peter told him quietly, and for a while the two of them sat in relative silence as Stiles snapped plastic blocks together and the other littles made various sounds as they moved about their own play.

 

“Derek and I are looking for a very specific sort of baby boy,” Peter divulged after a time. Stiles’ eyes snapped up to Peter’s piercing blue gaze, and he didn’t look away. This was important. “Your caregivers have noted that you’re presenting as an age a good bit above the one we’re looking for,” Peter explained to him. “The last thing Derek and I want is an unhappy little boy, but I’m not convinced whether you could be happy in a younger mindset.”

 

Desperately, Stiles opened his mouth to explain. “I said in the papers they gave me I was okay with trying any age. I --”

 

Peter held up his hand to stop him, and Stiles fell silent, though his heart still sped in his chest. His chance was slipping away. They didn’t want him.

 

“I am aware of that, which is why I’m considering giving this relationship a chance. And at any rate, you’ve clearly already won Derek over.” Peter cast a sly glance across the room to where Derek was still milling around, trying to give the two of them a chance to bond but clearly listening in and keeping one eye on their interaction.

 

“I want to try,” Stiles said earnestly, plastic blocks entirely forgotten. “Please?” His voice cracked, but he wasn’t above begging. “Peter, please? I’ll be good, you’ll see.”

 

“You don’t have to explain to me, baby boy,” Peter told him. “I know you’ll be a good boy. I can see it in every line in your body, scent it in your chemo-signature. Your desperate need to please, to be valued, loved. I just don’t know whether it’ll be the right fit. Whether you’ll be happy,” Peter said seriously. “But I think we’re going to try. If you’d like to.”

 

Stiles’ mind went blank for a second, and he glanced frantically between Peter beside him, and Derek across the room for confirmation that he understood. They were going to try. He’d been approved? They were taking him home? Stiles launched himself into Peter’s lap, throwing his arms around his solid frame as Peter’s hands came to rest on his hips, not hugging him like Derek would have, but certainly not pushing him away.

 

“I take it that means you’re eager to get home,” Peter smiled at his enthusiasm.

 

“Can we leave now?” Stiles asked excitedly.

 

Peter glanced up at Cathy who was still with them that morning, and clearly she’d heard what had been said as well, because she gave Stiles a nod and a knowing smile.

 

“Yes, we can leave now,” Peter told him. “You go on with Derek. He’ll help you get ready for the trip home. I’ve got to talk to some people and sign a few things before we get going.”

 

Stiles scrambled out of Peter’s lap and over to Derek, who took his hand and immediately led him toward the door. Somewhere or other, Derek had produced a duffel which was now slung over one shoulder as he led the way toward Stiles’ bedroom. He was now familiar enough with the winding hallways to realize it, and wondered how Derek was able to navigate them so unerringly. Perhaps it too was a wolf thing, or perhaps he’d simply been given good directions.

 

“Are you excited to get home, pup?” Derek asked him, clearly excited himself.

 

“Uh-huh. What’s it like at your house?” Stiles asked curiously.

 

“It’s an older house,” Derek told him. “Not too big, not too small. Two main stories, plus a peaked attic for storage, and an unfinished basement. I already told you it’s remote, in the woods. Hmm... what else can I say?” he mused. “We’ve got a room all ready for you,” he told Stiles, and Stiles felt a warmth pool in his stomach. A room. For him. Of course they had one. They’d been planning on finding someone to join them for some time. They would have had plenty of time to prepare something. But still, it felt special to have a place waiting just for him.

 

They arrived at Stiles’ room, and Derek easily led Stiles toward the correct bed. Yes, he was convinced it was a wolf thing. Something to do with their super scent.

 

“First thing’s first, let’s get you out of those agency clothes, hm? Arms up!” Derek instructed him, and Stiles shot his arms in the air with a grin. In one swoop, Derek divested him of his t-shirt. Then he unceremoniously pulled his pants and underwear down, instructing Stiles when to step out and keeping a hold on his waist so that he wouldn’t trip.

 

“On the bed,” Derek told him. “Let me get your socks.”

 

Stiles sat down, used now to being naked in front of any of the caregivers, not to mention his fellow littles. He didn’t pay any mind at all to his caged cock or the relative stranger now divesting him of his final stitches of clothing. Although Derek wouldn’t be a stranger for long, he reminded himself.

 

“First of all,” Derek told him, “I think Peter explained to you that we’re looking for a sweet baby boy to join us.” He produced from his bag what Stiles instantly recognized as a diaper. So. That was how it was going to be. Stiles bit his lip a bit apprehensively. He’d indicated his willingness to try that among many other things in his paperwork, but willingness did not equal experience, and with any new thing he was a bit worried at what it would be like.

 

“And baby boys,” Derek continued, “don’t have to worry about when and where to go potty. That’s for Daddy and Uncle Peter to worry about. Lay back now, Stiles, and let Daddy take care of you,” Derek urged.

 

There was a tension in the air, and Stiles stomach twisted nervously. This was it, he knew. His first test, of just whether or not this would work with Derek and Peter. He looked into Derek’s eyes, and remembered what Peter had said to him. He’d really already won Derek’s heart in this, and he could see that reflected in the gaze that met him. Derek wanted Stiles to try for him. To be good.

 

Stiles let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and simply laid back. As Derek affixed the diaper to him, he wasn’t even sure what he’d been so worried about. It was soft and comfortable, and didn’t hurt him at all. He could do this.

 

Next, while Stiles was still on his back, Derek produced an adult sized onesie.  His legs were left bare, and it did look a bit strange for his hairy legs to be  exposed in  such childish attire. 

 

“I think Daddy will get rid of some of this hair at bath time,” Derek told him, rubbing Stiles’ legs. “As well as down here.” He patted between Stiles’ splayed legs, over the bulk of the diaper. “It’ll be easier to keep our baby nice and clean.”

 

“Open,” Derek instructed, before Stiles could formulate any sort of reply. Obediently he opened his mouth to receive a pacifier, and felt himself flush in embarrassment over the picture that he must make. Derek, however, seemed enthralled by it, his eyes warm as they roamed over his body.

 

“Perfect,” Derek said reverently. “There’s Daddy’s perfect boy. Now. Baby boys don’t use big boy language,” Derek cautioned him. “If you really need to tell Daddy or Peter something important, that’s okay. But for now, let’s see if you can just keep your paci in your mouth,” he suggested. “That way you can still use simple words like Daddy or yes and no, but you won’t be tempted to say too much. How does that sound?”

 

“Tay.” Stiles slurred affirmatively around the rubber in his mouth. He flushed again at how young it made him sound.

 

“Good boy,” Derek praised.

 

Rather than put any sort of socks or shoes on Stiles’ feet, he left him barefoot. And instead of having Stiles follow him along the halls once again, Derek simply scooped Stiles up with one strong arm under his diapered bottom, Stiles arms coming up to hug his neck instinctively. With his other arm, Derek slung the bag over his shoulder, and moved them back to the hall.

 

Although Stiles was hardly short for a man, somehow Derek’s natural strength and Stiles’ posture made the carrying seem easy, natural even, and Stiles sunk further into a new headspace as the dynamic settled between them. He watched the building disappear behind them over Derek’s shoulder, unable to see where they were headed, and gently suckled the pacifier in his mouth, feeling the shape of it.

 

“Here we are,” Derek announced as they pushed through one final door to a side of the building Stiles wasn’t familiar with. A parking lot greeted them, though it was clearly still on the preserve side of the fence, werewolf territory, judging by the cleanliness and amount of green.

 

Peter was already at the car, clearly waiting for them to arrive. “Everything go alright?” Peter asked Derek.

 

“He was an absolute angel,” Derek assured him. “Isn’t that right, baby boy?” he asked Stiles, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles confirmed around the pacifier.

 

Peter all but melted at the sight of him. “Alright. You’ve convinced me,” Peter admitted. “Let’s get him in the car. It’s a long drive.”

 

Derek opened the back door to the car with one hand, and somehow managed to make sliding Stiles inside seem easy. There in the center of the back seat was something Stiles had never seen before -- some sort of adult car seat, perhaps for those with special needs. It was large and thin, a sort of padded contraption. And like a children’s car seat it was belted to the car, and came with a buckle of its own. Stiles was pressed into its confines, and Derek pulled the straps down over his shoulders, snapping the buckle in place in the slot between his legs. Between the bulk of the diaper and the seatbelt, Stiles’ legs were splayed wide open, and he felt vulnerable and exposed, and all the more young in this special seat with soft padding and bright colours.

 

“There you are,” Derek enthused. “Are you cold?”

 

Stiles shook his head.

 

“Good boy.” Derek took a moment to dig in his duffel bag once again, and pulled forth a small soft white stuffed bunny. “Would you like your bunny?” Derek offered it, holding it out for Stiles to grasp. He took it reverently, staring at the little toy. Derek -- no, _Daddy_ \-- had said it was his bunny. His very own. He hugged it to his chest.

 

“It’s a long ride, sweetheart. You should try to nap if you can. But if you need anything, you let Daddy know.”

 

The door was shut, and Derek arranged himself in the passenger seat while Peter took the wheel. It was strange to realize they’d drive a car home, on actual roads, though of course they would. It just seemed here that Stiles had seen very little by way of modern technology, and very few cars seemed to disturb the natural peace of the woods. Still, it seemed even the werewolves weren’t totally set apart from modern technology whenever it was warranted. They weren’t Amish, after all.

 

“He didn’t fight the diaper?” Peter was asking Derek up front, as if Stiles wasn’t right behind them, couldn’t answer for himself. But then, he supposed, a baby boy wouldn’t.

 

“Not at all. And you should see how cute his little cock is, Peter. I’d heard they were using the cage on all of the boys, of course, but he’s so _small_.” Derek made it sound like a wonderful development, not something to be ashamed of, but Stiles blushed nonetheless. “I think we should keep it for now.”

 

“I don’t see why not. The doctor said it’s healthy enough to wear even with the diapers, as long as we keep him clean. As for ejaculation, Deaton said that he should start having nocturnal emissions sooner or later. If he doesn’t within a month we can always milk him to keep him regular.”

 

“I can’t wait until we get him home, get him smelling like pack.”

 

“I’ll take him after lunch,” Peter assured him, though Stiles didn’t know where exactly Peter would be taking him, or what it had to do with smelling like pack.

 

T hey prattled on about this and that, and Stiles found it all rather boring as no one bothered to talk to him directly. He looked out the windows and saw a forest of endless green and dappled sunlight. Between the flickering light and the balmy summer air, he found himself dozing soon enough. 

 

It was only his bladder some good amount of time later that roused him.

 

He had to use the toilet, this much was certain. Up front, all was silent, and he wondered how long he’d been asleep, how long Peter and Derek had sat in silence, simply settled in for the drive. He thought about how to get Derek’s attention, how to express his need. He couldn’t  _seriously_ be meant to wet hi m self, could he? Here in the car? In his seat?

 

Should he call him Derek? Derek had referred to himself repeatedly as Daddy, but Stiles was acutely aware that he hadn’t used the word yet. He built up the courage to give it a try. “Daddy,” he slurred around his pacifier. It was quiet, but in the silent car and to werewolf ears, it was enough.

 

“What is it, sweetheart?” Derek turned around in his seat to look at him. “Did you have a nice nap?”

 

“Have to pee,” he tried, embarrassed not to speak more clearly, but recalling Derek’s caution about the pacifier and its intent.

 

“Go ahead,” Derek encouraged him with a smile and a nod. “That’s what your diaper is for. After you’ve gone, Uncle Peter will pull over so we can get you nice and clean, don’t worry.”

 

Stiles chewed on the pacifier a bit worriedly as he turned the thought over in his mind. Just pee. He’d agreed to try, he’d known this was a possibility. It was what diapers were for. Okay, so he would simply... let go. It wouldn’t kill him, after all. He tried to reason with himself, but he was still instinctively nervous about it. Some last vestige of control within him wasn’t ready to let go of years of conditioning.

 

Derek met his worried gaze with his own soft look. “Do you need help, sweetheart?”

 

Hesitantly, Stiles nodded.

 

“Peter, pull over, would you?” Derek asked.

 

“Already doing so,” Peter answered easily, and Stiles could see they were indeed pulling off the road, though he didn’t really see any other cars that they’d be in the way of. The preserve was expansive and largely silent.

 

Once the car was stopped, Derek moved around the outside of the car to slide into the back seat. He unbuckled Stiles from his car seat and slid him into his lap, Stiles’ back to Derek’s front. There was little room for it, but he turned his legs diagonally and made it work.

 

“Alright. I want you to close your eyes,” Derek told him. “And relax. Slow... deep... breaths.” His voice lulled Stiles into a puddle against him. “In... and out. Good boy,” he whispered. All the while, Derek’s hand rubbed soothing circles on Stiles’ belly in time with his breathing. As he felt limp in Derek’s arms, Derek’s hand pressed lower on Stiles’ abdomen incrementally, pressed more firmly against his bladder.

 

Stiles let out an uncomfortable grunt and squirmed instinctively, but Derek didn’t let up, pressing with steady pressure against his belly, until Stiles had very little choice but to acknowledge the discomfort and just  _go_ .

 

He could feel the urine spreading around him, dripping along his skin uncomfortably and soaking the thick fabric against him as the diaper gained a distinctive weight. His heart sped a little at the reality of doing it, but as soon as he was finished Derek peppered him with kisses. “Good boy!” he enthused, and Stiles figured it was worth the small humiliation if this was the result.

 

And really, the physical discomfort was short lived. While Stiles was busy processing what he’d just done, Derek was laying him out along the back seat of the car and swiftly cleaning and changing him.

 

“Oh my god,” Peter said from his perch in the drivers seat. “You’re right. It’s goddamn adorable.” Before Stiles had time to wonder what Peter’s non-sequitur could mean, he felt Peter’s hand reaching between the seats to lift his caged cock with one finger, diddling it back and forth in its tiny, flaccid state. Stiles squirmed, but there was nowhere to move to, no room to kick or close his legs in the small space.

 

Derek saw his discomfort and acknowledged it by tickling Stiles’ bare sides where the onesie had rucked up to expose him, and before long Stiles was shrieking with laughter as he squirmed in place. “Who’s Daddy’s cute boy?” Derek asked rhetorically, tickling until Stiles was breathless, all the while Stiles lay naked and exposed.

 

Derek managed to whisk the cage off long enough to get him clean, and fastened it in place again in barely the blink of an eye. Next came some sort of lotion, which Derek avoided getting near Stiles’ soon-to-be-removed bush, and instead massaged it gently into his balls and over the globes of his ass. He slipped a finger between Stiles’ cheeks and rubbed gently against his pucker, but didn’t linger or breach it. For now.

 

Before Stiles could get truly worked up from the intimate touches, Derek was all business again and a clean diaper was taped neatly in place. The onesie was righted, and Stiles found himself once again strapped into his seat.

 

Stiles turned several new facts over in his head as Peter got the car on the road again.

 

One, it seemed that he’d have to truly resign himself to long term diaper use. He was more than a bit intimidated by the prospect of actually shitting himself, but he’d never marked it down as a hard limit. He tried to push the thought of it away for now.

 

Two,  it seemed highly probable now that Derek and Peter intended to keep him in long term chastity. While that in and of itself hadn’t bothered him much so far, he keenly remembered Derek and Peter’s earlier discussion of having him milked. With Doctor Deaton, he hadn’t liked that experience very much, and recalled the frustrated arousal that had lingered just under the skin. 

 

And three, Stiles’ own sexuality was not something that was going to be ignored in this household. Not entirely at least, not judging by the casually sexual touches both Derek and Peter had just given him. In this lifestyle, littles and their guardians had personal preferences that ranged from nothing sexual at all to an intensely sexual interaction, and everything in between. Stiles was up for either, and had in fact experienced a bit of both before. He was intensely curiously to see where this would lead, though a little apprehensive about the addition of the chastity.

 

For now though, the car was on the road, the car was silent, and Stiles was bored out of his mind. The idle chit-chat that had lulled him to sleep earlier had stopped, and Stiles had had about enough sleep by now for a lifetime. If he were at the  facility ,  Stiles would have finished indoor play time by now, he was fairly certain, though it was hard to judge from the sunlight filtering through a car. He’d have been occupied for hours, and would now be outside with the others. And for someone with ADD, medicated or not, exercise was essential. He wanted to  _move_ .

 

“Daddy,” Stiles slurred around his pacifier.

 

“Yes, pumpkin?” Derek answered indulgently, turning his head to look over his shoulder.

 

“Bored,” Stiles pronounced as best he could, though it came out a bit garbled, like B’d.

 

“I told you we should have let Deaton sedate him,” Peter said.

 

“We do not need to sedate him.” Derek rolled his eyes. “Of course you’re bored, baby.” Derek twisted around in his seat as much as he could, and reached down to grasp one of Stiles’ bare feet. “It’s because Daddy hasn’t counted your toes.”

 

_What?_

 

Before Stiles could wonder further, Derek was onto the tried and true rhyme about piggies, ending in a thorough tickling of Stiles’ captive foot. It was entirely ridiculous, but Stiles was always helpless against tickling of any sort, and he burst into a fit of giggles just as Derek had intended. When he was thoroughly out of breath, Derek paused long enough to drop Stiles’ right foot and capture his left, repeating the entire process over again.

 

Tickling was followed by Derek actually  _singing_ to him, some song that had to be a lullaby or children's song that Stiles had never heard of. Then a rambling discussion of everything fun they’d do, another description of the house, even speculation about Christmas months away and how wonderful it would be to celebrate this year with Stiles in the house.

 

Derek danced Stiles’ bunny around, hopping it on his bare legs and rubbing it against his cheek. Stiles never had been sure what to do with soft toys. He didn’t have much memory of playing with them himself, but he was glad for Derek’s attention nonetheless. Soon enough, they’d whiled away the time and Stiles saw they were pulling into a long gravel drive, a house coming into view in the distance.

 

“Ready to see your new home?” Derek asked.

 

And Stiles was. His eyes filled with wonder at the sight of it, though as Derek had told him it was nothing special. An older house with two main stories, and not a neighbour in sight. When they’d come to a stop, Derek unfastened Stiles from his car seat, and once again carried him in lieu of letting him walk, though perhaps it was for the best with Stiles’ bare feet.

 

The house was brick and wood, with ivy over one corner of it and hints of a stone foundation peeking up behind the wildflowers. Inside, Stiles was immediately in small entryway, with stairs in front of him and to the right, a kitchen.

 

Derek followed Peter into the kitchen, and Stiles looked curiously around. Here things were a bit more modern than the old house would have implied, and had obviously seen updates over time. Grey counter tops of some sort of stone Stiles wasn’t savvy enough to distinguish and dark wood cabinets. All stainless steel appliances here, and a comfortable wooden table that could clearly sit more than just the two of them, though they lived alone.

 

Through an adjoining door, Stiles spied most of a comfortable sitting room. There was a real fireplace against the far wall, a sofa, and two cushy chairs. A number of small tables and endless bookshelves. The floor was wood, but with a large rug in dark earth tones that took up much of the floor.

 

For now though, they had stopped in the kitchen, and as Stiles let his attention really settle into the space, he saw something incongruous with the rest.  There at the end of the table was a strange sort of  high chair, designed for an adult, though Derek didn’t place him in it. Instead, he sat himself down in an empty chair with Stiles in his lap. “How about some lunch, hm?” Derek asked, as Peter was already moving to various cabinets to prepare something. Now that Derek mentioned it, Stiles realized he was hungry, and he wondered whether lunch were a bit late today, judging by Peter’s determination to have it right away.

 

“Let’s give him some applesauce,” Derek coaxed Peter, but Peter turned to him with a flat look, a bottle already in hand. “We can ease him into it.”

 

“Derek, we’ve been over this.” Peter’s eyes flashed red for a second, and Stiles’ gasped a quick, surprised breath. So Peter was the Alpha of the pack, and this was the most wolfed out Stiles had been able to see any of the wolves on the preserve thus far. “Firm guidance is the best way to get him used to his new routine.”

 

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Derek was quick to apologize, and for a moment Stiles thought Derek had just turned his head to look away, perhaps in shame or something like it. But he realized then that Derek was baring the side of his neck to Peter in a sort of supplication. Peter stepped over to him and gently placed his palm against the expanse of bare throat, rubbing his thumb along the artery for just a moment. Stiles watched on curiously from his perch in Derek’s lap.

 

Peter took in a slow breath and exhaled. “I’ll be glad when he smells more like pack,” he said quietly, then dropped his hand from Derek and went back to his work, fixing formula.

 

Stiles watched the process with interest, and some significant apprehension. Again they were treading into new territory for him. He’d seen this sort of thing on a list of limits, and he’d marked that he was open to it. At the time he’d filled his forms out, (Had it only been just over a week? It seemed like a lifetime ago.) it had seemed like not that big of a deal. After all, as long as he was getting the appropriate nutrients, his needs would be met. Drinking from a bottle wasn’t a painful or dangerous experience, so what did he care of his guardian wanted him to do it?

 

Now that he was face to face with it, however, things felt a little dif f erent, and he felt his heart picking up its pace again in his chest, though clearly there was no actual danger present. Still. Could he do this? His heart ached at the thought of disappointing either of these men. They  _liked_ him. They  _wanted_ him. And Stiles wanted so desperately to be wanted. And he liked Derek already, of that he was certain. He was even slowly starting to warm to Peter.

 

The kitchen may have been modern, but there was no microwave in sight as Peter warmed milk and powdered supplement on the stove. It took some time, and while the food warmed he assembled sandwiches for Derek and himself. All the while Peter and Derek chatted at Stiles, about nap time and pack time and any manner of things, but Stiles’ attention was totally shot.

 

And then: the bottle. Peter handed it over to Derek, and Derek pulled Stiles’ pacifier out of his mouth, setting it aside. “Are you hungry?” Derek asked in a falsely enthusiastic voice, and Stiles frowned uncertainly. “I know, baby,” Derek soothed. “But try for Daddy, hm?”

 

Stiles was tilted back in Derek’s strong arms, and the nipple of the bottle pressed against his lips. He only had to open them the slightest bit, and the nipple pressed through. And it was happening, Stiles realized with a start. His brain and body froze for a second as he realized that it was happening before he’d even properly decided to play along. A rubber nipple pressed between his lips and against his tongue as the smallest amount of formula dribbled out.

 

“Come on, darling,” Peter urged. “Be a good boy and drink your milk.”

 

Stiles looked up to see Peter, too, was watching his progress. He felt small, leaned back like that, the two faces of his guardians looming above. Both of them looked at him so earnestly, wanting so badly for him to try. He gave a hesitant suck.

 

“Good boy.” Derek grinned as if Stiles were the sun itself.

 

Milk flooded his palate, but also a gritty texture and something cloyingly sweet. He wrinkled his nose in distaste, but Derek only tipped him further back, encouraging him to suck and swallow the unpleasant concoction. This, Stiles decided, would take some getting used to. Not only for the mental component, which was considerable, but on the basis of taste alone.

 

It was lunch time now, Stiles realized as he sucked, and he’d left the agency shortly after breakfast. He’d gone to the bathroom on the road precisely once, and now his bladder was complaining yet again. So soon. Already. He wasn’t certain he could go again so easily. He flooded with a sense of embarrassment as he remembered the last time, only hours ago.

 

Maybe he could wait, he reasoned. He’d waited to pee before in his life, obviously. He could wait again. But Derek and Peter had said something about nap time following lunch time, just like at the agency. He hadn’t really been paying attention. Though he wasn’t tired in the slightest, he still got the impression he’d be expected to sleep or at least lie down after lunch, for a time. If he wet himself then, he’d potentially have to wait it out in a wet diaper. Or call attention to himself for help.

 

The bottle, Stiles could tell, was emptying fast, and he had to make a decision. If he waited, he knew logically, he’d only have to pee again after that. And again, and again. Best to get used to it, if one ever could. Closing his eyes against the humiliation, he forced himself to let go, filling his diaper with the now familiar wet and warmth.

 

“Did baby just go potty?” Derek noticed immediately, and beamed at him. He pulled the bottle away, which was just shy of empty anyway, and covered Stiles’ face with kisses. “That’s my good boy! Let’s get you into something more comfortable for your nap,” he suggested enthusiastically, and swept Stiles into his arms again as he stood, easily hauling him up the stairs. Stiles looked around curiously as they entered the unknown territory of the second floor.

 

There was a hallway done in neutral tones and hardwood flooring, but Derek ducked into the second door from the left to reveal a room of pale yellows and blues. A nursery.

 

The furniture in the room, however, left Stiles reeling. His eyes caught first what could only be described as an adult-sized crib. The dresser and rocking chair were whatever, but for now Derek was setting him upon an adult-sized changing table. The whole experience was unreal.

 

Out of nowhere, Derek produced his pacifier again and pressed into into his mouth, and Stiles began to worry it with his tongue and teeth. He’d always had an oral fixation, and he immediately took to trying to soothe himself with the bit of rubber.

 

He laid placidly on the padded table as Derek undid the snaps to his onesie and rucked up the fabric, untaped his diaper and began to clean him as before. Peter apparently had followed them up as well to watch the proceedings, because he now came into view to stand beside Stiles and brush his hair gently back as Derek worked.

 

“We’ll have to remove the hair tonight,” Peter told Derek.

 

“I know. Then you’ll be nice and smooth, won’t you?” Derek asked Stiles in a higher pitched voice.

 

Derek deftly fastened Stiles’ cock cage back in place before he could even consider becoming erect, and then there was lotion again, carefully smoothed over his balls, and rubbed directly over the pucker of his ass. Stiles sighed and relaxed into the sensations as arousal stirred in his belly from such an intimate touch.  Before he could get properly worked up, though, Derek pulled away, just as before. Stiles took a few steadying breaths as Derek taped on a new diaper and did up his snaps once more.

 

“Time to lie down for a bit, pumpkin,” Peter told him as Derek carried him over to the crib. The side had been pulled down to make transfer easy, and Derek laid him on the thin mattress, then pulled up the bars to lock them into place. Of course if Stiles really had wanted to climb out, he could, but it was the effect of the thing, really. Inside, as if he were an infant, there was no pillow or blanket with which he might suffocate himself, he supposed, though Peter produced the white bunny from the car ride from somewhere, and tucked it neatly into his hands.

 

“Now I realize you might not be very tired since you slept a bit on the way here,” Peter explained to him as Derek closed the curtains, casting the room into relative darkness. “But I want you to lay quietly for a while at least to rest and get used to your schedule. We’ll be back in a bit, but if you need anything before then just call out for one of us.”

 

“Sleep well,” Derek added in with a final smile, and the two of them exited the room to head back downstairs.

 

In the silence, Stiles laid for a while, squinting into the dim room he could see through the bars. So this was his life now. He took a minute to take stock.

 

He wasn’t really certain yet of the role that was being asked of him, whether he could truly sink into it and become comfortable. Could he really do this, live with these men long term? But then it also hit him: this was meant to be  _his_ room. And this was  _his_ bed. This could very well be a place he could come to rely upon for the rest of his life. Stiles cuddled the bunny closer to his chest and rubbed his cheek against its soft fur.

 

He really wasn’t tired, but the day was a bit much to accept. Stiles didn’t really sleep, he was too anxious for that. But he was able to drift, after a fashion. And it felt very much like blinking awake when some indeterminate time later, Derek showed up to wake him.

 

~~~

 

Derek drew the curtains open and light filtered into the room as Stiles took a deep breath and blinked up at him. “Did you have a nice rest?” Derek asked him, though of course the question was mostly rhetorical. After all, Stiles still dutifully sucked on his pacifier, effectively cutting off most speech.

 

“After nap time is pack time,” Derek told Stiles in a soft voice, clearly meant to soothe and keep him comfortable in his sleepy state. “While baby is still relaxed, we’ll all spend some time together and bond. It’s important to bond baby with the Alpha first. Give you his scent.” Derek was rambling on. The bunny had been left behind, and Derek was carrying Stiles down the stairs and into the living room.

 

“There’s my sweet boy,” Peter said from where he sat on the sofa. Completely naked.

 

Stiles drew in a breath and flicked his glance between Derek and Peter for some sort of explanation, though his eyes mostly drew to Peter’s very erect cock which he was slowly stroking. The man was  _hung_ .

 

“You want to bounce on Uncle Peter’s lap, don’t you bunny?” Derek asked him, settling Stiles on his lap as he sat down next to Peter on the sofa.

 

“Of course he does. Such a sweet boy.” Peter’s free hand came up to cup Stiles’ cheek. He stroked a thumb over Stiles’ cheekbone, back and forth, back and forth. His touch was gentle, but Stiles still felt apprehension building in his stomach, uncertain of what was being asked of him. He had a pretty good guess.

 

Meanwhile, Derek’s hands had dipped between his legs to unsnap his onesie. He rucked the fabric up to his chest, thumbs not so accidentally rubbing against his nipples as he drew the shirt up and over Stiles’ head, baring him down to his diaper.

 

The diaper, of course, was removed next, easily slid out from under him leaving him naked in Derek’s clothed lap. Derek leaned him back against his chest while Peter grabbed what Stiles knew must be a bottle of lube, and he was arranged such that his ass was on display to Peter while Derek’s arms gently held him around the middle, keeping him in place.

 

“Just relax, baby. Let Uncle Peter make you feel nice.”

 

Peter squirted out some lube, and there was his finger rubbing back and forth over Stiles’ pucker just as Derek’s had done twice before.  Stiles did his best to regulate his breathing, knowing what was coming next. He wasn’t surprised when Peter’s thick finger breached him, slowly moving in and out. He let out a little whimper at the sensation of it. Though he wasn’t entirely an anal virgin, Stiles had still had very little by way of anal exploration, and even then it had been quite some time since one of his own digits had pressed up in there. He remembered vividly his recent appointment with Doctor Deaton, though he tried to push that out of his mind now and focus solely on Peter, and on the here and now.

 

“That’s it,” Peter said lowly, clearly pleased with Stiles’ compliance.

 

In his cage, Stiles’ cock tried valiantly to erect, pressing against the metal bars of its confines. Peter noticed. He diddled Stiles’ squished little cock back and forth with one finger. “Ah-ah,” he cautioned. “We’ll have none of that, will we? When we need to have good feelings, we’ll get them this way,” he explained, and crooked his finger against Stiles’ prostate. Stiles grunted pleasantly at the sensation.

 

Peter took that for a good sign and spread lube onto a second finger, carefully stretching Stiles out. Stiles’ breathing deepened and became more laboured as arousal filled him, twisting his stomach and setting his skin on fire. Derek’s thumbs came into play on his nipples again as he was held steady, and the stimulation added an extra zing of desire.

 

When two of Peter’s thick fingers could easily scissor apart, Peter pulled his hand away, and Stiles could hear him slicking his cock. His heart sped in his chest. “Shh,” Derek shushed him, clearly hearing or feeling the shift in emotions. “You just relax and let Uncle Peter make you feel good.” Derek lifted Stiles easily and handed him over to Peter.

 

Stiles reached out to grasp Peter’s shoulders for support as Peter arranged him as he wanted him, Stiles’ legs splayed outside of his own, straddling over his enormous cock. Stiles looked into his eyes worriedly. He wasn’t experienced enough. It would hurt. It wouldn’t fit. But before he could work himself up, Peter was lowering him, breaching him, and Stiles let out a long moan and whimper around his pacifier at the stretch. His hands clenched against Peter’s shoulders, wanting to hold himself up,  give himself more time to adjust, but Peter’s strong hands came around Stiles’ hips to press him down fully until he could feel Peter’s thick rod deep inside his guts. His thighs trembled with the exertion of trying to  hold himself up and away, but now he felt his ass come flush against Peter’s pubes, and slumped against the man as he breathed heavily through the discomfort.

 

“That’s it,” Peter soothed him, rhythmically rubbing his back. “Just relax.”

 

Stiles curled against Peter and rested his head on Peter’s shoulder, eyes closed as he breathed through it as best he could.

 

“He’s perfect,” Derek said from beside him. “He takes to it naturally.”

 

“Of course he does. Our baby boy needs to feel his Alpha inside, don’t you Stiles?” Peter asked him, not really expecting an answer. “Just let Uncle Peter do all the work,” he told him, and gently lifted Stiles by his hips, his werewolf strength making the task of it trivial.

 

Stiles whimpered a bit as he felt every inch of Peter’s cock drag through him in reverse, then groaned as Peter lowered him and filled him up again.

 

It was slow going at first. Peter was gentle and patient, if persistent, and Stiles’ body loosened by degrees, giving in to the inevitability of the situation. The less resistance there was, the faster Peter worked him on his cock, until Peter’s breaths were sharp and fast, and Stiles was letting out a steady moan of discomfort for his little cock, straining hard inside its cage. Now, he was certain that both werewolves could smell he was fully turned on. Now he wanted to come as badly as Peter.

 

Peter let out an animalistic grunt, his hands tightening on Stiles’ hips as he pressed him down one final time, and inside of himself Stiles could feel Peter’s cock pulse and twitch, obviously expelling his emission. In Peter’s arms, Stiles continued to tremble with his own unspent arousal, coiled tight in his belly. He struggled to catch his own breath, wanting nothing more than for Peter to let him out of his cage and stroke him off.

 

Peter held Stiles against him gently as he recovered, his cock slowly softening inside of Stiles’ ass. Stiles hesitantly tried to broach the subject. “Uncle Peter?” he mumbled, the pacifier butchering it to something like Un’ca Pe’er.

 

“What is it, darling?” Peter asked a bit breathlessly.

 

How to ask for what he wanted, and in simple words? Stiles reached down between their bodies, rubbing at his sore cock in its cage, his swollen balls. “Hurts,” he told him pitifully.

 

“Ah-ah,” Peter admonished, gently pulling Stiles’ hand away from himself. “Little boys don’t touch their pee-pees,” he said. He peeked down between them at the situation, but then just pulled Stiles back against his chest. “You’ll be fine. Just give your body a minute to calm down, dear one. If it still hurts after five minutes, Daddy will go get you some ice to help make it small again.”

 

Stiles shuddered and curled in closer. Ice on his junk did  _not_ sound appealing at all. And he got the message loud and clear. Chastity in this household was to be enforced, at least for him.  Meanw hile, Peter and Derek were free to use him to get themselves off. His cock twitched a bit in its confines at the idea of it, and Stiles tried to blank his mind from arousing thoughts and settle into the rhythm of Peter’s breathing.

 

“Don’t hog him,” Derek announced, suddenly alerting Stiles that yes, his Daddy was still here. He peeked over Peter’s shoulder at him to see Derek had opened his pants and was stroking his own cock. For a moment, Stiles wondered whether this family was somewhat incestuous, but Derek seemed only to have eyes for Stiles at the moment.

 

“You can have him next time,” Peter answered. “Right now baby needs to spend time with his Alpha. Isn’t that right, precious boy?” Peter buried his nose against Stiles’ neck and inhaled. “He’s already beginning to smell more like pack.”

 

N ext to them, Derek’s hand sped on his cock. His eyes fell shut as he gave a final groan and spilled over his fist. Without hesitating, Derek reached out with his free hand to pull Stiles’ pacifier free, then pressed two cummy fingers into his mouth. Stiles sucked them dutifully, curling his tongue around them to taste Derek’s bitter cum. It wasn’t exactly pleasant, but the heated look Derek gave him was worth it.

 

“Good boy,” Derek praised him huskily. He carefully scooped and pressed as much of his seed into Stiles as he could while Stiles gently suckled and swallowed. He couldn’t help the gentle rock of his hips that followed, nor the whimper at his continued confinement. His ass clenched instinctively on Peter’s softening cock, and he gained no relief there either.

 

“Aren’t you a slutty boy?” Peter chuckled, though he seemed pleased, not malicious. Stiles buried his face in Peter’s neck again, shyly, and felt Peter’s chest rumble strangely against him. After a moment Stiles realized what it had to be -- a sub-vocal growl, though one clearly of approval. He shivered at the thought of how close he was to a beast.

 

“Come on,” Peter said as he pulled Stiles off him with a sigh. “Up you get. Then I think you and Daddy can go outside for a while and I can get some work done.”

 

Derek pulled Stiles to him as Peter handed him off, and he immediately laid Stiles out on some of the available space of the sofa, grabbing the wipes to rid Stiles of any remaining lube or cum that might have seeped out thus far. Next to them, Peter grabbed a wipe for himself and cursorily cleaned before standing to get dressed.

 

Derek, however, was in no real hurry. He dipped two clean fingers into Stiles’ stretched hole and sawed them gently in and out as Stiles squirmed. “He’s so  _soft,_ ” Derek marvelled.

 

“You’re going to love him,” Peter assured him. “He’s tight in there as well. I can’t wait to stretch him around my knot come full moon.”

 

Stiles whimpered as his cock continued to strain against its enclosure.

 

“Alright, sweet boy,” Derek said with a sigh, pulling his fingers free. “You’ll feel better once we’re out in the sun, stretching our legs.” Derek did up a clean diaper and slipped Stiles’ onesie back on, though once again he didn’t bother with pants, socks, or shoes. Then he scooped him up in his arms again and walked Stiles out through the kitchen to the back yard, if it could be said to be a yard at all.

 

In fact, it was mostly just wilderness. The ground was grassy in coarse patches, but was also full of dirt, sticks, rocks and the like. All the things one would expect from the woods. Derek found a clear patch of earth and set Stiles down on his own two feet, finally.

 

“Step carefully, pup. I don’t want you hurting your feet. But you’re too little to run or climb anyway, so I’m sure you’ll be fine if you take your time.”

 

Stiles wasn’t sure about that. At the agency, he’d grown used to the ability to run with the others, to expend a large amount of energy with vigorous physical activity. Now, he picked his way over the forest floor, just grateful to at least be walking on his own for now, to be in the fresh air and warm sun.

 

They walked for a while among the trees, sat on some large rocks and later moss. Picked at wildflowers and collected pine cones for no reason at all, only to set them in a little pile by the back door. Stiles lost track of time as he wandered, though he noticed that even when he was occupying himself Derek was never very far away.

 

His bare feet hindered his speed effectively, and the thick bulk of the diaper between his legs hindered his already questionable grace. Now he toddled as he walked, legs splayed a bit unnaturally as he struggled to adjust to the new gait. As the minutes ticked by, however, at least his arousal simmered down. As promised, his cock shrunk back into a docile, flaccid state -- easily comfortable in its confines once more. And the itch of unfulfilled desire eased away by increments as well.

 

Another hour or so ticked by, and Stiles wet himself yet again. It hadn’t grown much easier but he’d resigned himself to it. Immediately after, he’d simply lifted his arms to Derek to be picked up, and Derek had praised him again for using his diaper as he whisked him back into the house and upstairs for a cleaning and change.

 

As they’d walked around, Stiles had felt Peter’s cum slowly seeping out of his hole too, and was glad to be refreshed there as well.

 

“There, see?” Derek told him as he reattached Stiles’ cock cage after the cleaning. “Cute and small once again, just like it should be.” _Not for long_ , Stiles thought. Not if Derek kept stroking his balls like that with his lotioned hand. He felt Derek’s finger slick up his crack as the finger teased at his still sensitive rim, but didn’t dip inside. Stiles hummed around his pacifier and wriggled a bit, but Derek ignored him, acting as if he’d simply finished of his own volition as he let off the teasing and finished up.

 

The interruption of a diaper changed served to shift them into an indoor activity afterward. Peter was nowhere to be seen, but Stiles hadn’t heard the car, so he figured he was somewhere inside the house doing whatever work he’d referred to earlier. Derek meanwhile took Stiles back into the living room, and settled Stiles onto the sofa beside him as he took out a book.

 

Stiles felt a pang in his chest at all the old familiar ghosts that came to haunt whenever children's books were near, but Derek simply cuddled him closer and began to read. And Stiles really did love it, more than he could admit. His eyes felt a bit hot and his throat tight, and he fisted his hands in Derek’s shirt and tucked his head close under Derek’s arm, against his chest, as he listened to Derek’s steady, measured tones. It was close together like that that Peter found them later, when it was time to start supper.

 

They moved into the kitchen to join Peter, as Peter asked him about how he liked the property, asked him what Derek had read to him about. Just enough idle chat to keep Stiles occupied until his bottle was ready. Then he was tilted back as he had been at lunch time, the now familiar thick milk flowing into his mouth when he sucked. He was  _hungry_ , he realized, and he wasn’t altogether certain that the formula could fill him. He was used to more, and still had the urge to actually eat something. Still, he recalled reading material from the agency that explained how the werewolves had indeed developed formulas to provide their humans with all the required nutrients.

 

While Stiles sucked, Peter cooked, and the smells of real food washed over him, making it simultaneously easier and more difficult to suck the grainy, cloyingly sweet formula down. Stiles closed his eyes against the image he presented, and tried not to think too hard about what it was he was doing.

 

When he’d finished his meal, the real food was ready, and Derek transferred Stiles over into his special chair for the first time. The height and general size were different from a child’s high chair, of course, in order to accommodate his adult size. There was a buckle that came over the chest and between the legs like his car seat, and a little table that fell into place in front of him, just as might be done on a child’s seat. Once he was neatly out of the way, Derek gave him a sippy cup, this filled with water, to drink on his own if he wanted something. In the meantime, Derek and Peter settled down to their own meal.

 

Stiles had gotten used to the pacifier preventing him from true speech, and he’d gotten used to something to worry with his mouth to calm his anxiety. So he grabbed his cup of water and sucked and chewed at the mouth piece of it while his guardians talked. And it was while he sat there digesting his meal that he felt the first cramp hit his belly.

 

Stiles stilled his nervous ticks and zeroed in on the familiar feeling. At the agency, every evening after supper time was shower time, and that was usually also a good time for him to do his daily business in the bathroom. It was just the way the timing of his digestive system worked, and it seemed it was working now.

 

Another cramp clenched his gut. In fact, perhaps things were working a bit too well, and Stiles cast a suspicious glance at his daddy and uncle, thinking that maybe they’d actually put something in his formula. Or perhaps it was the liquid diet itself that had unsettled his insides. At any rate, he wasn’t nearly ready for this to happen. He’d thought he could handle the diaper thing, and he’d tried. He really had. He’d worn it, and he’d pissed himself, but this was too much. Too fast. Too far.

 

“Daddy,” he said in a panicked voice, just barely refraining from calling the man Derek now that his more adult mindset had been activated by his dilemma.

 

“What is it, pumpkin?” Derek asked, glancing over at Stiles so casually as he ate his own meal.

 

“I have to go potty.” He said the most complete sentence he’d said in hours.

 

“Go ahead.” Derek nodded. “You know how to use your diaper.”

 

“D-” Stiles bit his lip. “Daddy, I can’t.” His eyes were filling with tears as another cramp hit him. He was going to soil himself if someone did not do something now. The situation was urgent. “Please? Please, Daddy I can’t. I can’t.” Stiles fiddled with the latching table on his high chair, now desperate to get himself out as quickly as possible,to find a bathroom somewhere in this house. But he hadn’t seen how the thing latched and from inside of it it was difficult to see and feel.

 

“Stiles,” Peter admonished in a stern voice that had Stiles looking up at him immediately. “There’s nothing wrong,” he said in measured tones. “You just have to let your body do what it naturally does.”

 

“You put something in the bottle,” Stiles accused. Now he was certain.

 

But Peter didn’t look the least bit recalcitrant at the accusation. In fact, he looked annoyed at the fact that Stiles was using his big-boy words, and was putting up a fuss. “I put a mild laxative in your formula, yes, to keep you regular. Now be a good boy, and Uncle Peter will clean you up as soon as you’ve gone. If you get stopped up, baby boy, we’ll try the suppository next to make sure everything is okay.”

 

Stiles’ eyes filled with tears and he glared fiercely at Peter with heated, accusatory eyes. But Derek was lifting the latch of the high chair and unbuckling his seat to set him free. Thank God. Derek was the nicer of the two. Surely he’d have some pity.

 

Instead of taking him to a toilet however, Derek simply pressed his pacifier back into his mouth, and Stiles felt dread settle into his skin as he knew what that meant. Enough talking. “Come here, sweetheart,” Derek said in a soothing tone. “It’s been a hard day of adjustments for you, I know.”  Stiles clung to Derek’s neck as he left the kitchen with him, climbing the stairs and heading to his now familiar room, perhaps in anticipation of the big event. Stiles’ body gave a spasm but he clenched all the tighter to keep the mess inside. Now it was instinctive. He couldn’t possibly let go.

 

Derek sat down in the rocking chair, and Stiles could see over Derek’s shoulder that Peter had followed them up once again. He didn’t want an audience for this. He didn’t want this at all. It was too much. Rocking back and forth in the chair against Derek didn’t soothe him, only encouraged more tears and a garbled string of “I can’t, I can’t.” which he mumbled through tears and his pacifier, pressing his face into Derek’s shirt.

 

Derek looked up at Peter a bit helplessly. “His whole body is rock hard, Peter,” he said in a sad voice. “He’s so tense, I don’t know how to help him.”

 

“Give him here.” Peter held out his arms. “Come on. It’ll be easier for him in the long run.”

 

Stiles only cried harder as Derek handed him off, and Peter laid him out on the changing table though his diaper was still spotless. He was unsnapped and untaped with quick efficiency, and then he felt something small and round and lubricated push against his anus, still a bit soft from his time with Peter earlier that day. Peter’s finger entered easily as he pressed whatever it was -- the suppository -- deep inside. Then the diaper was done up again, and the onesie left to hang loose.

 

Peter scooped him up in his own arms and simply paced around the room to wait while Stiles cried and the medication took effect.

 

In less than five minutes Stiles felt the inevitable take place. It was messy, to him it was mortifyingly loud, and it didn’t seem to stop for ages as his body forcefully evacuated itself into the diaper. His bowels simply couldn’t hold any longer. And while Stiles continued to cry both during and after the event, he did feel the cramping in his gut ease away, and a light feeling take its place. It was done, he was fine. He was already feeling better.

 

Peter laid him out without hesitation and cleaned him as thoroughly as Derek ever did, though it took a bit more time to do so. He was even more thorough with the lotion. Now that his anus was stinging from the forceful evacuation, Peter slathered the cream across and into his hole, easing away any pain, and Stiles swore he felt him do that werewolf pain trick for good measure.

 

Soon enough he was clean and dry, and they were all back in the kitchen. Though now, Peter kept Stiles bundled in his lap as he awkwardly ate around him. The two wolves finished their meal while Stiles finished crying himself out and settled down bit by bit. He felt a bit silly after the fact for making such a big deal of it. Now that it was done, it almost didn’t seem worth the effort. He hadn’t died. He had actually been able to handle the event after all.

 

Vaguely, Stiles wondered why he wasn’t in more trouble for the scene he’d caused. Only moments ago, he’d been so close to bailing on what he’d worked so hard to acquire. Now Peter -- stern, bad-cop type Peter, held him on his lap as he ate, as if Stiles was still precious and loved and in need of cuddles. In fact, every few minutes Peter would brush his fingers along Stiles’ neck, or press his face close to the juncture to inhale, as if reassuring himself as well that Stiles was now fine.

 

The kitchen was mostly silent, but Stiles couldn’t determine whether the silence was tense. Stiles had learned from the car ride that at times, Derek and Peter were simply content with long stretches of silence. But for Stiles, silence had always had a tendency to make him itch. He worried the pacifier in his mouth before he finally ventured to ask Peter shyly, “Am I in trouble?”

 

Peter startled a bit at the question, but rushed to reassure him. “No, bunny, you’re not in trouble,” he said calmly, giving Stiles a little rub where his arm held him in place. “You just had some trouble with something new, that’s all. Next time it’ll be easier for you.”

 

Next time. Right. Stiles closed his eyes and took a breath, because of course this would be something he’d have to address again tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. Could he bring himself to do it on his own? “No more laxative?” he asked hopefully, though the pacifier in his mouth garbled the sentence.

 

Peter hesitated. “We’ll see,” he answered vaguely, and Stiles felt his stomach twist a bit at that. No doubt Peter wasn’t convinced Stiles  _would_ go on his own, and Stiles wasn’t sure whether that were true or not. “Let’s not worry about that right now. Let’s think about something nice, hm? After supper we’ll give you a nice warm bath, put you in your pj’s. How does that sound?”

 

“Okay,” he agreed, relaxing a bit further now that he knew he wasn’t in trouble, and knew what would come next. A bath didn’t sound too bad, and the bottoms of his feet were still filthy from his time outside with Derek.

 

D espite the disruption, it didn’t take Peter and Derek much longer to finish eating. Peter set the dishes in the sink to obviously be dealt with later -- after Stiles was asleep, he supposed. Then Peter carted Stiles up the stairs, easily carrying him in one arm, while Derek went on ahead and began to fill the tub with hot water.

 

Stiles looked around the bathroom curiously. It was the first door on the left, which meant there were still three mystery doors in the hallway. The bathroom itself was homey. It had a white tile floor and porcelain shower-bath and sink, though the rest of the décor included pops of grey and dark blue. It was well lived in, and small but not cramped. Overall, more comfortable than the industrial feel of the all white bathroom at the agency.

 

Derek was already setting out various bottles along the floor within easy reach and Peter laid Stiles down in the centre of the floor to easily strip him of his clothes. Onesie first, then diaper though it had hardly been worn, then his cock cage.

 

Instead of placing him in the tub, however, Peter first set him up on the closed toilet seat. “Let’s do his hair first and get it out of the way,” Peter told Derek, reaching for a bottle. “It needs to sit on his skin for a few minutes anyway before we rinse it off.”

 

“Good idea.” Derek shut the tub off, having deemed it filled sufficiently, and together the two of them began to slather some sort of cream all over Stiles. He remembered now, Derek had wanted to remove his hair. It must be a depilatory cream. He wasn’t certain how to feel about that.

 

Part of his face was carefully treated -- anywhere he was likely to have to shave. Both of his legs from top to bottom, his armpits, and the entirety of his pubic bush. After a moment on his skin, the cream began to tingle and itch. It wasn’t comfortable, almost a mild burning sensation, but it didn’t feel dangerous or particularly painful either so Stiles did his best to tolerate it.

 

“Sit still,” Derek urged him in an encouraging tone. “Only two more minutes and we’ll wash all that yucky stuff off. “In the meantime....” Derek produced a little rubber duck and held it out for him.

 

Stiles grinned. No way. An  _actual_ rubber ducky for bath time? Rubber duckies made bath time lots of fun! Bert and Ernie had told him so. And while Stiles vaguely recalled he’d had something in the tub with him as a child, he knew for a fact it had never been the prized rubber duck. He took it carefully, trying not to touch any of the product still stuck to him, and turned it over in his hands.

 

In spite of being stripped bare, Peter had left Stiles with the ever-present pacifier. “Thank you, Daddy,” he quietly slurred.

 

“You’re very welcome.”

 

“You’ll spoil him,” Peter chastized with a roll of his eyes, though his voice held no real heat and Stiles could see Peter’s eyes were just as warm as Derek’s.

 

“It’s not spoiling him if he deserves it,” Derek proclaimed. Stiles wasn’t sure of the logic of that statement but he certainly wasn’t going to argue.

 

“Alright, it’s been about enough time,” Peter said, and lifted Stiles off the toilet set to plunk him in the few inches of warm water. Hardly enough for a bath, but this apparently was round one as Peter used a cup to rinse away all of the depilatory cream he’d rubbed onto Stiles’ body. Stiles watched in a sort of detached fascination as the tub became cloudy with his hair as it floated up and away from his body. His skin where Peter rubbed it was highly sensitized now, and he’d never felt anything like it. Nor could he remember a time when he’d been so smooth. It had the immediate effect of making him look and feel much younger. He could see why they’d done it, but it was disconcerting nonetheless. Another new experience to try and wrap his head around.

 

The pubic hair was by far the most startling to see himself without, and the skin there prickled with arousal as Peter rubbed,though for once the touch wasn’t meant to be sexual. Stiles’ now freed cock took interest however, and he developed half a chub which was thoroughly ignored.

 

When Peter was satisfied Stiles was clear of hair, Derek drained the tub and fished the hair out of the drain to throw in the trash, then refilled the tub with fresh hot water while Stiles sat in it, duck at the ready. He watched it float slowly up as the hot water swirled around his chilled body.

 

“Maybe if you’re a very good boy, Daddy will get you some bubble bath,” Derek told him, and Stiles looked up with his eyes shining excitedly.

 

Peter wrinkled his nose. “Don’t promise him things like that. You’ll have him smelling like a chemical cocktail.”

 

“But little boys love bubbles,” Derek argued.

 

“Maybe once he smells more like pack,” Peter conceded grudgingly, and Derek left it alone with a conspiratorial wink at Stiles.

 

It was nice to be doted on, Stiles thought. Better than nice. This was the sort of affection he’d been starved of for ages, and he soaked in the constant attention and touch as both Derek and Peter washed his hair and body while he pushed around his duck.

 

When Stiles had been washed and rinsed to within an inch of his life, the cooling water was drained. Peter wrapped Stiles in a large fluffy towel and made sure he was meticulously dry while Derek began cleaning up. The half-erection Stiles had developed shrunk down a bit as he shivered while he dried, and Peter took advantage of the moment to slip Stiles’ cage back into place.

 

Next, Stiles was laid out on the ground again. “Let me do up your diaper, sweetheart,” Peter told him, and fetched the familiar cream to protect against any rash. Stiles gasped at the new sensitivity as Peter thoroughly rubbed it into his pelvis on the now bared skin. His little cock struggled in earnest now to erect. “Doesn’t that feel much nicer?” Peter asked him.

 

Stiles whimpered a bit in response, and squirmed in place. Peter took pity on him and did up his diaper, but before he was dressed, Derek and Peter both began to lotion his newly bared legs. After all, they explained, they didn’t want their baby boy to suffer from dry skin. Stiles had never before thought of his legs as an erogenous zone, but now he reconsidered. Without the barrier of hair, his bare skin seemed highly sensitized,  and it was impossible to deny the effect on his poor, caged cock.

 

Finally though, Peter chose another onesie, very much like the one he’d worn throughout the day, though this one was patterned with little moons and stars. He dressed Stiles efficiently and helped him stand up, where Derek was already waiting at the sink for him holding out a garishly red toothbrush, clearly designed with a child in mind. It was already topped with paste, though Derek didn’t attempt to do the job for him.

 

“Brush your teeth like a big boy,” Derek told him, handing it over and supervising the event. Apparently in this household, Stiles’ “age” would remain somewhat fluid. Derek took the pacifier away for now, and tucked it into a pocket for later.

 

Stiles was sleepy from his bath time, and from the routine the agency had kept him on of turning in to bed so early in the day. So when Derek picked him up to carry him to his room for bed time, he didn’t protest in the slightest. The curtains were already drawn shut, and Stiles was settled onto his mattress as the bars of his crib were snapped back into place. It would be strange, he thought, to sleep the night without any pillow or blankets, with his newly bared legs already pimpling with gooseflesh in the night air.

 

But Derek and Peter both pet him and kissed him one last time, bidding him a good night and sweet dreams. Then it was dark and silent in Stiles’ room as he curled around his bunny and tried to sleep.  The pacifier, he noted, had not made a reappearance, but after a full day of suckling on it he found he missed it. Unconsciously a thumb slipped between his lips, and it was in that way he was able to drift off.

 


	5. Day 12, Saturday

Stiles blinked awake into a dark room, and for a moment was disoriented. A bit over a week at the facility had been long enough for his brain to expect the sounds of other littles breathing and moving around him, but the house was silent. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom around him, he made out the shape of the bars to his crib, felt the lack of blanket and the cool air ghosting over his bare skin. He shifted a bit around the bulk of his diaper and felt calf brush calf sending goosebumps across his flesh at the smooth sensation.

 

Right. His room, his crib, his home with Daddy and Uncle Peter. And wasn’t that strange to turn over in his mind?

 

He bit his lips, noticing already the absence of the pacifier he’d used so much the previous day, and noticed that his thumb was a bit wet. He wiped it against his bunny.

 

Stiles wondered what time it was and what had woken him. Perhaps he’d just gotten used to rising quite early. He thought about calling out for Derek or Peter, but then again it was nice in a way to have this moment to himself.

 

Stiles was also faced with another familiar problem upon waking, which was a full bladder.  If he were to call someone to wake them up, he reasoned it would be best to take care of that first. Another day to get used to the diaper. It was easier in a way to try it alone in the dark. Stiles closed his eyes again, and concentrated on letting go. Warmth flooded over his cock and across the bare skin of his pelvis, over his balls and down his crack a bit as well as it soaked into the diaper, giving it a weighty feel.

 

H e gave himself a moment to calm his heart. Nothing bad had happened, he reminded himself, though as he sat in the sodden mess he decided he really didn’t like the feel of it. “Daddy!” Stiles called out, then waited in silence to see whether his yell had been effective. In the distance, he did in fact hear some sort of shuffling about, so he stayed silent and still waiting to see whether Derek would come.

 

The door to his room was already open, and Derek hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights against the gloom of the morning. Wolf, Stiles realized. He wouldn’t need the lights to see.

 

“What is it pumpkin?” Derek asked, his voice sounding rough from sleep. He must have scented the air because before Stiles could reply he asked, “Do you need a clean diaper, baby boy?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles answered quietly, feeling as if he should be whispering in the dark.

 

Since he was already awake, Derek turned the lights on to the bedroom, probably more for Stiles’ benefit, and Stiles squinted against the sudden brightness. Derek shifted down the bars of the crib and transferred Stiles to the changing table while Stiles laid placidly, still sleepy and loose-limbed, still half closing his eyes against the light. He was awake, but it was early.

 

Derek cleaned him efficiently. His cage was only off for the span of two breaths, or he was losing time in his sleepy haze. Then the part he’d come to relish, the cream that Derek rubbed in everywhere that remained exposed. Stiles’ legs fell open passively and he hummed appreciatively at the early morning touches.

 

“You like that, sweet boy?” Derek asked as he tickled a finger over Stiles’ anus. Stiles looked up at him, getting his first really good look at Derek this morning. His hair was sleep mussed, and he wore low slung sweats and a rumple t-shirt. He looked as soft and comfortable as Stiles currently felt.

 

Stiles gave a little hum of confirmation as Derek continued to rub gently against his pucker. His cock gave an interested twitch, but Derek only paused in his motions, waiting for Stiles to calm back down, his breathing coming slow and even. Then, to Stiles’ surprise, he eased one lubed finger into his hole and let it rest gently inside for a moment as Stiles clenched around it. It felt good. Arousing. But not enough that his cock was in danger of waking up and spoiling the fun.

 

Painfully slowly, Derek began to ease his finger in and out of Stiles ass, gently fucking him with the single digit, and Stiles let out a contented sigh at the stimulation. Derek carefully avoided contact with Stiles’ prostate, simply allowing him to feel the penetration. And Stiles drank the delicious feeling in, relaxing into the sensation as his thumb came up to his mouth to suck and his eyes slit closed again.

 

“Good boy,” Derek praised softly. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?” he asked rhetorically. “Daddy’s perfect boy. You’re so tempting right now, all docile like this.” Derek removed his finger before he worked Stiles up too much. Already, Stiles’ skin was flushed with arousal and his breathing was coming more raggedly.

 

“I thought I heard you two in here,” Peter said, suddenly appearing at the door looking just as sleep tousled as Derek. Apparently, before Stiles had come Derek and Peter weren’t early risers. If they intended to keep Stiles to his schedule though, they’d soon have to adjust their own.

 

Peter scented the air and took in Stiles at a glance. “Do try to control yourself, nephew. He hasn’t even had his breakfast yet.”

 

Derek smirked and refrained from responding to that. “But we’ll have breakfast soon, won’t we?” he asked Stiles instead, doing up his diaper at last. Then he reached up to shuck off Stiles’ night clothes, and redressed him in a very similar onesie once more. Stiles was beginning to sense a theme. He vaguely wondered what they would dress him in come winter. Would it bee something new, or would they simply find some other way to keep him warm?

 

Derek swept him into the bathroom and set him up with his toothbrush again, while Derek brushed his own teeth and used the toilet. For now, Derek seemed in no rush to change into proper daytime attire.

 

When they’d both finished their morning routine, he scooped Stiles up once more to head down to the kitchen which was still dark. It was before sunrise, and Stiles thought by the light of the pre-dawn creeping through the window that it must be around the same time he was used to waking at the agency. For now, Derek turned on some lights and set Stiles up in his high chair, straps and all, while he heated some of the sickly sweet formula once again.

 

Peter joined them shortly, looking fresh and awake now, and he’d taken the time to get properly dressed. “I’ll take him,” he offered. “You go on and get dressed for the day.”

 

Derek hesitated, and Stiles eyed Peter speculatively. Until now, Derek had been the one to give him his bottle, and Stiles already wasn’t particularly looking forward to the experience. Two feedings were enough to convince him he wasn’t that fond of the taste or texture, and morning had him missing real breakfast foods.

 

“Okay,” Derek said after a pause, and he gave one last curious look to Stiles as if wondering whether he’d behave, or maybe wondering at Peter’s capability.

 

But there was nothing for it. It simply made sense for Derek to head upstairs. Then it was just Peter totally alone with Stiles.

 

“Come on, up you get.” Peter quickly freed Stiles from the confines of his chair, and settled him easily on his lap as he sat down. Stiles had seriously been considering trying to bargain with Derek this morning. To let him know perhaps that the taste of the milk wasn’t that enjoyable, or to ask if he would actually be able to have some of the applesauce Derek had mentioned the day before. But one day was long enough to convince Stiles that Peter was the stricter of his two guardians, and he didn’t dare complain as Peter tilted him back and pressed the nipple of the bottle to his mouth. He dutifully closed his lips around it and started to suck.

 

There was just something about Peter that made Stiles desperate for his approval. He wanted to show that he could live up to Peter’s stern expectations of him. He could just imagine how Peter would scold him if he fussed, and he gazed up earnestly as he suckled down his formula, hoping that Peter would acknowledge what a good boy he was being for him.

 

Though he’d been a bit apprehensive at first, Stiles decided it was nice here with just Peter holding him against his solid chest. The house was dark and quiet, and he felt secure and safe. All his needs were being met, and he felt himself relax sleepily into Peter’s arms, his eyes slitting shut as Peter kept guard over him. He took his time in drinking, and though the taste was still cloyingly sweet there was something soothing about it being so warm.

 

Stiles eyes cracked open again when he heard Derek on the stairs. When the man emerged into the kitchen, he looked a bit more awake and he’d managed to dress himself in something more appropriate for the day. Stiles gave his bottle one last suck and pulled off as the formula was gone.

 

“What a good boy,” Derek enthused, pleasantly surprised that all had gone well between them in his absence.

 

“Of course he was,” Peter said, as if it was a foregone conclusion. He sat Stiles back upright and transferred him back into his chair. It wasn’t exactly praise, but Stiles decided it was still pretty good coming from Peter.

 

Derek produced Stiles’ pacifier from seemingly nowhere and pressed it into his mouth. Stiles hadn’t realized he’d been missing it but he immediately began to suck.

 

With Stiles out of the way, the other two began to bustle around the kitchen in a clearly familiar dance. Derek started getting together the ingredients for simple breakfast sandwiches, while Peter filled the kitchen with the aroma of coffee.

 

It was domestic, and it was comfortable, but Stiles was already becoming a bit bored. His mind had always been over active, and he itched to do something, say something, think about something. Then Derek came along with  sippy cup of water and a familiar pill, and oh yeah, his ADD might have something to do with the problem. Derek took his pacifier for long enough for Stiles to take his medication, and then he was sentenced to silence once again.  He considered of course making some sound or motion to indicate his frustration, but he wasn’t quite comfortable enough yet to risk acting out.

 

“I think I’ll head out to the store once we’re finished here,” Peter told Derek as they enjoyed their breakfast.

 

“That’s fine. I’m going to try and take care of some of the gardening. Stiles can be Daddy’s big helper,” Derek added with a smile toward Stiles.

 

Peter rolled his eyes. “You’re just going to get him filthy.”

 

“He’ll wash.” Derek shrugged.

 

“Don’t let him touch anything sharp.”

 

Stiles huffed out an exasperated sound at the same time that Derek now rolled his eyes at Peter, though their reactions were apparently for different reasons. For Stiles’ part, he was fully aware that he  _was_ actually a capable adult, under the veneer of his child-self. But for Derek....

 

“You do know I’m not a complete idiot, right?” Derek asked dryly, slanting a glare when Peter smirked sarcastically. “Stiles will sit at a safe distance and play with the wildflowers and pine cones and whatever else he finds. Unless _you_ want to pull all the weeds out of the flower beds and pick debris out of the yard?” Derek offered.

 

Peter’s nose wrinkled in distaste. Apparently there was a reason why he’d offered to be the one to go to the store.

 

When breakfast was finished, the sun was just peeking out and the breeze that blew in from open windows was still cold. Stiles shivered a bit at the sensation on his bare skin. It was only his second day in a onesie, and that alone was an unusual sensation to be without pants. But the hairlessness was entirely new as of bath time the previous night, and Stiles had had no time at all to get used to that. Goosebumps sprung up both from the chill in the air and from pure sensitization.

 

Derek scooped him out of the confines of his high chair and took them out the back door and into the yard, heading toward a small shed Stiles hadn’t paid much attention to the day before. Slung on one of Derek’s hips, he wondered whether his legs might atrophy from this new lifestyle of being carried nearly everywhere he went.

 

Derek pulled out a pair of clippers, a bucket, and a small garden trowel, then headed over to one of the “flowerbeds” he had mentioned and settled Stiles down on the bare ground. The earth was still damp with dew and carried a chill, but the sun was creeping out and already Stiles could feel the start of a warm day.

 

The flowerbeds were basically just wildflowers growing all around the perimeter of the house. It looked to be a mostly wild tangle to Stiles, but Derek apparently had an opinion on what could stay and what should go. He pulled weeds barehanded most of the time. The combination of werewolf strength and fast healing meant he had no need for gloves, though at times he did make it easier on himself by utilizing one of the tools.

 

The beds were about two feet  wide , and had a rough ring of stones around  them to delineate them from the rest of the “yard”, which again was mostly a forest floor. But nevertheless, Derek seemed to have his own standards for what should be in the bed, and what should be around it. His bucket steadily filled with weeds, and  with various rocks and sticks strewn about the perimeter that he’d deemed either unsightly or some sort of hazard.

 

S tiles was pleased to find that while he couldn’t run or converse, he wasn’t without stimulation. He was allowed to walk (carefully, barefoot) around the area, so long as he stayed within Derek’s line of sight. He was allowed to inspect his surroundings to his heart’s content. And there was always something to find for someone as curious as Stiles. An interesting bug or bird. A perfectly smooth rock or a hidden mushroom. And not only did moving about keep him occupied, but he soon forgot the chill in the air and the ground, as the sun and his exercise were enough to warm him.

 

It was nice, he thought to himself. Peaceful. Was this how Derek and Peter lived their lives? It was Saturday, so perhaps the weekdays tended to be more chaotic. He wondered how they worked, how they earned enough to live. The human world was full of work and chaos, with no time left for enjoyment, at least in Stiles’ experience. But he knew so little of the economics of this world. They obviously had to earn something to afford to go to the store as Peter was now, and to afford gas for the car. But were there property taxes? Or what about heat, in the winter, for those like Derek and Peter who lived in the woods with firewood as far as the eye could see?

 

“What have you found there?” Derek asked, coming over to crouch next to him. Stiles was sitting close to but at a safe distance from an anthill as he lost himself to his thoughts. It was vaguely interesting to watch the ants come and go, going about their lives.

 

“Do you like watching the ants?” Derek wondered aloud. “Maybe Uncle Peter will let us set up a little colony for you in one of those glass boxes. Or we could get you some other pet.” He tilted his head to the side. “Although I don’t know if Peter would tolerate anything other than some fish.”

 

S tiles smiled at the idea that Peter, a literal wolf, might not like having animals in the house. Then again, now that Stiles heard Derek say so, he could see how Peter might be the type. Where Derek was fairly laid back by comparison, Peter was the disciplinarian. Where Derek’s clothes were very casual -- just basic jeans and a t-shirt, Peter’s clothes were just a hint more posh, as if he’d chosen them out of some more expensive store for their cut or the softness of the fabric. It would figure if he was the one who couldn’t countenance having a pet indoors.

 

“Come on.” Derek stood, holding out a hand for Stiles to hold. “Let’s get some flowers for the house, then we’ll get cleaned up and do some indoor activities. Peter should be home soon. Maybe he’ll join us.”

 

Derek walked Stiles over to the flower beds which Stiles could admit did look much improved, and significantly more intentional. He let Stiles point out which flowers they should pick, and then clipped them off neatly with the cutters Stiles wasn’t allowed to touch. Then they headed back to the kitchen where Derek spent considerable time supervising Stiles’ hand washing, and brushing any loose dirt off him or his clothes.

 

By the time Peter arrived home, Stiles was strapped into his high chair again with a vase full of flowers before him which he was carefully rearranging to look more pleasant.  Derek puttered nearby, ostensibly doing some prep work for lunch or supper.

 

P eter’s arms were laden with a ridiculous number of bags, which he of course acted as if he didn’t even notice. Stiles’ curiosity about werewolf strength only grew the more he saw of it, and he had to admit that it was a pretty major turn on.

 

Peter glanced his way as he sat the canvas bags on the counter. “That looks lovely, Stiles. Did you pick those out yourself?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles confirmed with a pleased smile.

 

Derek set aside whatever it was he’d been working on and helped Peter put away the food. “I thought we could do something together once you got back,” Derek suggested.

 

“That’s an excellent idea. I think it’s time we start teaching Stiles a bit about our world. How does story time sound, pup?” Peter asked Stiles.

 

“Good,” Stiles slurred around his pacifier, curious about what he’d learn from his coming lesson.

 

When everything had been put away, the three of them curled up on the sofa with Stiles in the middle, and Peter selected two books. One looked to be a very old tome, and another some thin children’s book from what Stiles could tell.

 

The tome came first, and it was absolutely fascinating. Stiles would have loved just to curl up and delve into it himself, though of course Peter didn’t allow him to read on his own, instead reading aloud selected portions. Bits about werewolves, and supernatural history. Pack dynamics and hunters. Stiles was certain that this one book alone could keep him in new information for months to come.

 

There were few pictures in that heavy book, though Peter let him see the old drawings that were there as Stiles peeked over his shoulder. On his other side, Stiles was snug against Derek who wrapped one arm around him and always seemed free with touch. A hand always rubbing his stomach or resting on his bare thigh.

 

When finally Peter had decided Stiles had had enough of serious talk for the day, he pulled out the second publication. It was something so perverse Stiles was certain it would never see the light of day in the human world. It was a children’s book all about adult children like him, and humans being cared for by the wolves. Peter read it aloud as well and showed him the colourful pictur es. It served well to reinforce the dynamic between them, and Stiles found himself sinking a bit more into the proper headspace as Peter read, the whole story normalizing what was between them. It made it seem perfectly natural that they should all live this way.

 

By the time story time was over, it was time for lunch.

 

And oh god, was that alfredo? The dish took only a handful of minutes for Peter to make, but the smell of it was incredible. Stiles’ mouth watered and his stomach gave a loud rumble. Which apparently, Derek heard.

 

“It sounds like someone’s getting hungry,” he said with a smile, and Stiles cringed a bit. Because beside Peter at the stove, Stiles could see Derek preparing yet another bottle of formula. He watched what Peter was doing longingly. Real food. Stiles wanted it.

 

The sauce was set to reduce, and the pasta was boiling away, when Derek finished assembling Stiles’ bottle. He took him out of his chair and settled in as usual to feed him, and Stiles almost wanted to cry at the inequity. More syrupy sweet, gritty gunk. He opened his mouth reluctantly and began to slowly suck, feeling disappointment well up in him as he imagined eating what he could smell. He wasn’t sure whether the exercise made his situation better or worse.

 

He wasn’t really full, but he was finished. Stiles tried to turn his head away from the bottle, having had enough. He was  _tired_ of the concoction, and the more of it that filled his belly the more he realized he hadn’t peed since breakfast. Far too long, really. 

 

“Come on,” Derek urged him, pressing the nipple back against his mouth. “Finish your milk.”

 

Stiles closed his eyes and focused on something that was sure to get him out of lunch: wetting himself. He sighed as he relieved the building pressure in his diaper, and was grateful when Derek set the bottle aside to whisk him away upstairs for a change.

 

Perhaps, Stiles thought while Derek cleaned him, since nap time was after lunch and they were already here, Derek would simply put him down to sleep. But it was too much wishful thinking, because the diapering was cursory this time. Almost no fondling to speak of. And Derek was focused entirely on getting Stiles back into the kitchen while his formula was still warm.

 

Stiles sighed in defeat as Derek pressed the teat into his mouth once more, though he sucked slowly, prolonging the inevitable. By now he saw Peter had plated himself and Derek some food as well.

 

“He’s not eating?” Peter noted as he watched Stiles’ slow progress.

 

Derek sighed. “He must just be tired.”

 

“Hmm,” Peter answered non-committally.

 

“Is that it?” Derek asked, looking down at Stiles. “Are you a sleepy boy?”

 

Stiles felt a small pang of guilt, because no, he wasn’t particularly tired. He just didn’t want any more formula. He  sucked a bit more earnestly, and could just make out with his head tilted back that Peter’s sharp eyes were on him as well. He always had this creeping feeling that Peter knew exactly what was going on with him, even with the imposed silence.

 

S tiles managed to finish the bottle after all, and Derek whisked him back upstairs to settle in for his nap. Now, Stiles was able to admit he was perhaps a little sleepy. After all, he’d been on a nap schedule for over a week now, and there was something about just after lunch time with his belly full of food, combined with a dark room and comfortable bed, that made him ready to doze. He curled around his bunny once again and was out like a light.

 

~~~

 

Stiles heard rustling and blinked at the sudden light. Someone was opening the curtains to let in the afternoon sun. He was in his room, in his crib, and it came back to him more quickly this time. He blinked up to see with some surprise that it wasn’t Derek this time who’d come to wake him, but Peter. He also knew that he should really relieve his full bladder now so that Peter would change him before they did anything else. Still, it was a bit difficult to let go with Peter already coming over to scoop him up.

 

“Did you have a nice nap?” Peter asked him.

 

Stiles sucked on his pacifier in response, and flushed with embarrassment as he wet himself  while Peter look ed  on. The man smirked knowingly, and Stiles was sure the wolf could smell it. Still, Peter made no comment to further embarrass him. He simply lifted Stiles out of his bed  and transferred him to the changing table, divesting Stiles of his wet diaper and beginning to clean him up.

 

Stiles was still a bit groggy from just having woken up, but his mind  began to clear as Peter worked and talked. “Are you ready to have cuddle time with Daddy?” Peter asked, and then Stiles remembered. Derek was going to fuck him today, wasn’t he? Just as Peter had had him the day before. Arousal stirred under Stiles’ skin, and he felt a pang of frustration at just how quickly Peter had reassembled his cock cage.

 

Peter’s lubed finger teased his entrance, and Stiles squirmed reflexively. “Don’t worry, baby. You’ll soon have something nice filling your pretty hole.” Peter eased one finger into him and Stiles sighed at the feeling of fullness. Even though he knew he wasn’t going to get off, his body ached for more of the intimate touches now that they’d begun. He couldn’t help it, he craved them.

 

“That’s it, open up for Uncle Peter,” Peter urged him gently, sliding his digit in and out, and Stiles relaxed into the stretch. Unlike previous penetrations when they’d completely avoided Stiles’ prostate, Peter bumped it intentionally now with every other thrust. Stiles jolted at the spark of pleasure and whimpered a bit around his pacifier. “Oh, is that baby’s little bump?” Peter asked and nudged it again.

 

Stiles cock tried to erect and pressed helplessly against the metal bars of his cage. He tried to squirm away as Peter added a second finger and gently fucked him open, fingers crooking to give him that spark of pleasure every now and again. He hated how good it felt, and he hated the discomfort to his poor, trapped cock.

 

“Daddy thinks we should avoid baby’s prostate,” Peter divulged. “But Uncle Peter knows better. What I know is that it makes baby feel good, doesn’t it?” he bumped it again as Stiles sucked in a breath. “And baby’s cock will eventually learn to give up those pesky erections, so you won’t always feel so bad. Won’t that feel nice then? When you’re able to enjoy getting your little hole stuffed full, but still remain nice and soft?”

 

Stiles whined plaintively, uncertain whether he wanted that or not, but sure that he wanted something to give him some relief.

 

Peter ghosted his fingers over Stiles prostate  again , back and forth, giving it the gentlest rub and Stiles gave a choked sound of frustration. His eyes watered, and he wondered if he really would cry from need as Peter worked him up. Stiles squirmed like mad on Peter’s slippery fingers as he tried to get more, or tried to ease away. “Is baby ticklish there?” Peter asked, and that was exactly what it felt like he was doing, Stiles realized.  _Tickling him_ , in his most intimate of places. Peter pulled out of him, leaving Stiles panting for breath, flushed with arousal from head to toe. His cock strained in its cage and Peter tickled it a bit too, at a tiny bit of exposed skin through the bars of the cage.

 

“Poor baby. Let’s see if this’ll go down on its own, hm? Sometimes it takes a little while to learn.”

 

Peter scooped Stiles off the changing table with one arm, a diaper bag slung over his other shoulder for later use. He didn’t bother dressing Stiles now, for as soon as they reached the living room it was Derek who was naked this time, and already erect.

 

While Peter had seemed utterly composed the day before, Derek looked to Stiles like a porn star. He had a light sheen of sweat, his hair pushed messily out of the way. And his eyes were hooded with desire as they lit on Stiles in Peter’s arms.

 

“Hey baby boy,” Derek said upon seeing them. Stiles shivered at the husky tone.

 

“He’s already been prepared,” Peter told Derek as they walked to the couch.

 

“Is that right?” Derek asked. “You want to cuddle real close to Daddy, sweetheart?”

 

Stiles took in the porn star level of perfection and felt his mouth go dry. “Uh-huh,” he affirmed, reaching out for Derek as Peter handed him over.

 

Derek’s grin lit up his whole face as he received him. “I’ll bet you do,” Derek teased, and Stiles had no doubt Derek could smell his level of arousal, see from the flush on his skin and the strain of his cock how worked up Peter had gotten him beforehand.

 

“Let Daddy help you fill that needy hole,” Derek told him, lowering Stiles down onto his cock with Stiles’ legs straddling to either side of his hips, the same position Peter had used the day before. Stiles grasped Derek’s shoulders as he felt the initial penetration stretching him wide. While Peter had pressed him down, fully controlling his motions, Derek simply steadied his hips and let Stiles take his time sinking lower and lower into place.

 

Stiles’ breath hitched and his thighs shook with the strain, fingers clenching into Derek’s skin as he moaned at the fullness of the invasion. He still wasn’t used to this, and as good as it felt it also felt like so  _much_ .

 

Derek’s thumbs rubbed soothing circles into his hips, and Stiles could hear him shushing and murmuring gently to him to coax him to relax. When Stiles finally sank fully down, Derek praised him. “Good boy. How does that feel? Nice and full?” he asked.

 

Stiles nodded, and Derek rubbed his hands all over Stiles’ flushed skin. His back, his arms, along his ribs. One hand came to rest over Stiles’ stomach, pressing in slightly and causing Stiles to become all the more aware of the cock buried inside of him. He felt it flex and throb within as Derek pressed down. Stiles grunted softly. “You like that, baby?” Derek pressed more firmly, rubbing his palm over Stiles’ lower abdomen and Stiles grunted softly again.

 

“Look at his poor little cock,” Derek lamented, stroking the cage with a gentle finger. He cast a slightly accusatory look at Peter. “You got him all worked up, didn’t you?”

 

“And you’re not getting him worked up now?” Peter asked a little breathlessly. It was then Stiles noticed that Peter had unclasped his pants and was now stroking himself slowly as he watched them from his own place at the end of the sofa.

 

Derek pulled his touch away from Stiles’ cock and reached back around to his ass instead, letting one finger trail around Stiles’ stretched rim. “Can you lift up for Daddy?” Derek encouraged, and Stiles took a shuddering breath as he prepared to try.

 

Stiles grasped Derek’s shoulders and levered himself up on trembling thighs, feeling the drag of Derek along his canal as Stiles lifted nearly off of him. Then he let gravity do most of the work as he sank back down on the cock, once again filling him well into his stomach. Every nerve ending seemed to light up inside him at the friction, and Stiles groaned around his pacifier at the feeling of it.

 

All the while, Derek’s hands roamed everywhere. On the bare skin of his legs and pelvis, pressing into his abdomen and then palming his nipples as they smoothed over his chest. Stiles grew dizzy with it as he continued to bounce and bob, not feeling strong enough or steady enough to actually get Derek off with the motion.

 

Finally, when Stiles’ legs were burning from the effort and his breaths came in short, desperate pants, Derek grabbed Stiles by the hips and began to bounce him on his lap with more intent. Faster, deeper, more forcefully Derek pushed into his boy as Stiles clung to him, whimpering desperately as he too wanted some way to find release.

 

Finally, Derek stilled his motions as he held Stiles down on him, his cock throbbing in a now familiar way inside of him as it pulsed in release. Stiles shut his eyes tightly and clung to Derek’s shoulders, chest pressed to chest, as he trembled with his own remaining arousal.

 

Derek smoothed a hand up and down his back as they both slowly calmed. “Shh,” Derek soothed him. “That’s Daddy’s perfect boy. Doesn’t it feel good to have your little hole played with?”

 

“Turn him around,” Peter urged, and Derek awkwardly helped move Stiles so that his back was to Derek’s chest instead, Derek’s half hard cock still thrust inside of him. From there, Stiles was bent forward on the sofa toward Peter, until he was folded neatly in half and laid against the cushions, Peter’s cock bobbing right in front of his face.

 

Peter pulled Stiles’ pacifier away and cupped one strong hand to the back of Stiles’ head as he pulled him forward, hard cock nudging his lips for entry. Stiles didn’t need any more prompting as he let himself go boneless and opened his mouth to receive it. The salty pre-cum coated is palate, but he didn’t have much time to appreciate it as Peter pressed him further down, nearly gagging him as it hit the back of his throat.

 

Stiles did his best to suck as Peter tangled a hand in his hair. Peter bobbed Stiles’ head up and down his shaft, causing him to choke a bit with each slightly deeper thrust, and was clearly on a mission of completion, not a leisurely stroll. Soon he too came with a guttural grunt, and he held Stiles’ head in place as Stiles struggled to swallow his release.

 

When he’d finished and Stiles panted against him, he finally eased up on the pressure, though he kept Stiles mouth filled with his softening cock, not yet pulling away. Instead he gently pet Stiles’ hair as Stiles continued to suckle on him as the three of them calmed.

 

It felt good to be like this, Stiles thought. Safe. Full. Warm. He felt Derek’s cock softening inside of him, and a small trickle of cum already oozing out of his stretched hole, but his hole still had something to clasp onto. His mouth was still stuffed with the weighty cock on his tongue. And warm hands from both ends pet his pliant body.

 

“Such a good boy,” Derek told him again, then finally eased himself free of Stiles’ hole. He reached for the diaper bag and wiped himself clean before tending to Stiles’ hole. Then he lifted Stiles away from Peter’s cock as well, to roll him over on his back on the cushions and more thoroughly wipe him clean. Unfortunately, Stiles’ cock was still aching and pressed against its confines. As soon as Derek let it free to get him clean, Stiles hardened further.

 

Derek tisked. “ You’ll have to learn to relax that, baby boy,” he told Stiles as he worked the lotion into Stiles’ now clean skin, avoiding the cock entirely. He pressed a finger-full of cream into Stiles’ stretched hole, but didn’t spend much time there either, perhaps reasoning that Stiles had been worked up enough already.

 

Stiles hadn’t even realized Peter had left when he was suddenly there with an ice pack wrapped in a tea towel. Derek took it without a word and Stiles only had a moment to connect the dots in alarm as he saw Derek moving it toward his crotch.

 

“Big breath,” Derek instructed him, and Stiles gasped involuntarily as Derek pressed the pack to his cock and balls.

 

Stiles  y elped out in discomfort, and Peter was pressing his pacifier back in his open mouth as he let out a muffled sound of distress and writhed. But Derek was strong and easily pinned Stiles by the hips. “Three breaths, baby. Come on. In --” he instructed, and Stiles struggled to pull in air, “and out. In... and out. One more in...” Derek blew out the last breath in time with Stiles, “and out.”

 

Stiles was shivering and whimpering as he strained to get away from the cold cloth. It wasn’t painful, but it was still thoroughly awful. After three breaths though Derek pulled the pack away, and Stiles’ cock had shrunk just as he’d intended, fully flaccid now between his legs.

 

“That’s better,” Derek said cheerily, setting the ice pack aside as Peter pet Stiles’ hair. Derek did up the cock cage with deft motions, then started with the diaper.

 

Stiles turned his head against the cushions as much as he was able with a plaintive whine as his eyes shone with frustrated unshed tears. “I know, sweetheart,” Peter told him. “That wasn’t very nice, was it? But you’ll feel better in a moment. You were such a sweet boy for us today. Did you like sucking Uncle Peter’s cock?” he asked, trying to distract him.

 

Stiles nodded as he gazed shyly up at Peter. Derek slipped Stiles’ onesie back on and did up the snaps, then helped him to sit up once again.

 

Peter smirked. “You like having something to suck on, don’t you baby?”

 

“Mm-hmm,” Stiles answered affirmatively, sucking on his pacifier that very moment.

 

“Let’s go outside now and I’ll show you what I set up for you while you were asleep,” Peter said, taking Stiles’ hand and for once allowing him to walk himself rather than be carried. He was physically spent from the sex he’d just had, and his legs were a little shaky, so for once Stiles was sincerely grateful for the hand to hold onto to steady him. Peter let him walk slowly through the back yard on account of his bare feet as usual, and then Stiles spotted it.

 

Hanging from a tree at the edge of the tree line was a swing that hadn’t been there before. It hung by a sturdy rope from a high branch, and it was fashioned out of bolted together thick leather to form an adult-sized toddler-style seat, complete with leg holes so that Stiles ostensibly wouldn’t fall out. He looked to Peter with excitement and genuine pleasure. Peter had set this up just for him? He felt a warm flutter in his stomach at the thought of it, especially coming from the stricter of his two guardians.

 

“Would you like me to push you in it, darling?” Peter offered.

 

“Yes, please,” Stiles slurred shyly around his pacifier, and he held his arms out expectantly for Peter to lift him into the swing.

 

It was amazing how much fun swinging still was, Stiles thought as Peter pushed him. He was able to let go and enjoy the wind whipping across so much bare skin, laughing in the sun. It was freeing and wonderful and for once he didn’t worry or think about a thing. Even his earlier arousal was utterly forgotten in lieu of genuine fun. And Peter was a good pusher, it turned out. The rope was long and heavy and Stiles shrieked as he swung high into the air, feeling breathless and a little out of control.

 

Stiles had no idea how long they played, but eventually Peter slowed the swing to a stop and lifted him easily out. Stiles clung to him, and his smile reached his eyes. He was exhausted though Peter had done all the work, and he slowly caught his breath again as his heart-rate settled down from so much excitement.

 

“Let’s go wash our hands, hm? And we’ll play a quiet game until supper time.”

 

Stiles made no comment either way as Peter carried him into the house. He was for once settled comfortably into his headspace and was content to do whatever Peter decided. So they went inside and washed their hands thoroughly at the kitchen sink, and Stiles glanced curiously at whatever Derek was cutting up for supper. Chicken and roast vegetables, it looked like, and he felt the first hints of hunger at the sight of it.

 

For now though, Peter steered Stiles back into the living room and sat him upon the rug, then went to a wooden chest settled against the wall. When he returned, it was with a cloth bag filled with soft, stuffed blocks. Something a very small child might want, but a far cry from Lego, or even wooden blocks. Still, Stiles was a bit tired from the outdoor play, and he settled back against Peter’s legs as he investigated the soft blocks.

 

They felt nice in his hands, and different sides had slightly different textures for him to touch. There were different colours he turned this way and that as he stacked them into a rough tower. The lumpy shapes didn’t hold very well or stack very high, but Stiles didn’t let that upset him as he simply stacked again with another colour facing out. And two of the blocks, he discovered, rattled when he moved them. It was a quiet activity if a mindless one, but after such an eventful new day Stiles was content to just zone out for now.

 

As he played, the house steadily filled with a delicious aroma and Stiles’ stomach gave an interested growl. With perfect timing, Derek stepped into the room with a bottle already in hand, and handed it over to Peter.

 

“If you could feed him now, our food still needs another few minutes until it’s done.”

 

“Sure,” Peter said easily, and Derek left the room to tend to whatever he had going on in the kitchen. Stiles eyed Peter warily as the man scooped him up and settled him on his lap on the couch for his feeding. “Come on, up you get,” Peter said to him. “I can tell you’re getting hungry, aren’t you, darling? I heard your tummy rumbling.”

 

Stiles stared up a bit helplessly as Peter removed his pacifier and pressed the nipple of the bottle to his mouth. He was afraid to drink, because the last time Peter had prepared a bottle for his supper it had come laced with a laxative and he hadn’t liked that much at all. Peter as always seemed to be a mind reader.

 

“Come on,” he said in a no-nonsense tone. “Drink your bottle, Stiles. This is not a negotiation.” Peter’s voice was soft but firm. He didn’t show a hint of anger or aggression, and yet he left Stiles with no doubt that this was going to happen one way or another. So Stiles began to suck. And unlike with Derek earlier that day, he didn’t feel at all up to testing Peter’s patience. Instead, he ignored the texture and ignored the taste as he steadily drank the bottle down. It was warm, which made him relax a little as always, and he had to admit that it did fill his stomach nicely, as his hunger steadily faded away, leaving him satiated and content.

 

When the bottle was empty, Peter set Stiles down on the sofa and pressed his pacifier back into his mouth, then moved to clean up Stiles’ blocks and put them away. He puttered about the room, rearranging some books, then scooped Stiles up to wander in the kitchen only long enough to deposit the bottle in the sink. He carted Stiles around the ground floor in one arm while fussing with this or that using his free hand, seemingly just passing the time, and then Stiles felt it.

 

He let out a whine of hurt indignation. His food  _had_ been laced and he felt the cramps hit his stomach. Stiles buried his face against Peter’s neck and whimpered as his bowel s quivered in a familiar way. 

 

“I know, sweetheart,” Peter murmured quietly. “But your medicine is there to help you. If you’re a good boy and can relax and let go, Uncle Peter will change you straight away, and you won’t even need the suppository.”

 

Stiles knew he didn’t at all want  _that_ , so he figured he’d better get with the picture and just  _let go_ , because this was happening now whether he was ready for it or not. He would have maybe liked the chance to try and go on his own without the aid of the laxative, and a part of him resented Peter for his underhanded move, but another part of Stiles could maybe admit that if he was having trouble going even with this ease and urgency to help him along, perhaps he wasn’t totally ready for the real thing.

 

He kept his face hidden in the crook of Peter’s neck, utterly humiliated, and couldn’t believe Peter wanted him to do this while holding him. He’d feel it, he’d smell it. It was mortifying.  He tried to concentrate on simply doing the deed, but a part of his mind or his body didn’t want him to let go. Stiles fisted his hands in Peter’s shirt and let out a whimper again, his eyes filling with tears as he clenched his eyes shut to keep them from falling. 

 

All the while, Peter had climbed the stairs and they arrived then at Stiles bedroom, Derek nowhere in sight. It was just Stiles and Peter -- Peter the mean one who had drugged him, though he realized belatedly that it was Derek who had prepared the bottle. They were in on it together, the bastards.

 

Peter laid him down on his changing table and grasped Stiles’ feet, bending his knees and pressing his feet up toward his hips, moving his legs in and out, pumping them like he was on a bicycle. “Come on, sweetheart,” Peter urged in a gentle voice. “Better out than in.”

 

Stiles hated it. He hated feeling the movement of his legs shift and stretch his bowels, shifting everything downward and eroding his control. But it was happening no matter what, he reminded himself, and so he closed his eyes and simply... pushed. There was a lot of it, and it was soft and wet and warm, and he felt the diaper grow heavy with the weight of it. He tried hard not to notice the smell.  And as if to add insult to injury, he couldn’t help but wet himself at the same time as well, adding a spreading liquid to the sloshy mess growing between his legs.

 

Peter continued moving his legs and feet until his stomach had stopped cramping and he was utterly empty inside. Humiliated, defeated tears streamed down his cheeks now and he gave a helpless sniffle when Peter finally let his feet go. “That’s my boy!” Peter praised him. “See? I knew you could do it. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

 

It was bad, and Stiles levelled a glare at Peter as if to say so, but Peter just ignored it in lieu of getting Stiles cleaned up efficiently. He supposed he should be glad of that. At least Peter whisked away any evidence of a mess with impressive speed, leaving him fresh and clean and smelling sweet.

 

By the time Peter started rubbing in the lotion, Stiles had calmed a bit and wasn’t crying any longer. Without the suppository he noticed that his hole didn’t feel as irritated like it had the day before. Perhaps he could forgive Peter the laxative then. Eventually.

 

Peter didn’t insert a finger into him -- why would he, considering what had recently been up there? -- but he did slather copious amounts of the cream down his crack, and press gobs of it carefully into his little hole. It left Stiles feeling slippery back there as his cheeks rubbed together enticingly, and the feeling of the lube squishing around the entrance of his hole reminded him of lube and cum. It caused him to feel pliant and soft and in want of something filling him back there, even after his clean diaper was taped on.

 

All in all, by the time Stiles and Peter joined Derek at the supper table, he was feeling pretty good. Peter’s intimate touches had him feeling a bit squirmy but not desperate. His bowel was comfortably empty and his stomach comfortably full.

 

“How did it go?” Derek asked casually as he set the plates on the table and sat down to eat. Peter dropped Stiles into his high chair and strapped him in, then gave him a handful of dry beans to push around on his table while the adults ate.

 

“He did well. He didn’t even need the suppository tonight,” Peter told him.

 

Derek gave a bit of an exaggerated gasp to Stiles and smiled at him. “Is that so?” he asked. “What a good boy you are!”

 

Stiles flushed, not sure whether it was from embarrassment over what he’d been through or perhaps a bit of it was genuine pleasure at his daddy’s praise. After all, it had been difficult, and he’d done it.

 

Pushing beans around was an almost painfully boring activity, but Stiles was too emotionally exhausted to care at that point. And oddly, too physically content. He simply didn’t have much nervous energy left to expend, and he only listened with half an ear to Derek and Peter as they talked about things they’d done during the day, things they’d do tomorrow. There were comments on how Stiles was coming along, how he’d liked the swing, how he was starting to smell like pack.

 

By the time his guardians had finished with their own food, Stiles was drifting off where he sat. “Come on, sleepy boy. Let’s have a quick bath and get you ready for bed.” Derek roused him, lifting him out of the seat and hauling him up to the bathroom. This time Peter didn’t follow, apparently content to let Derek handle him while Peter took care of the dishes.

 

Derek ran the bath as he had the night before, and stripped Stiles down while the tub filled. He settled Stiles into the hot water and let him push around his ducky while he gave him a decent wash, though tonight he there was no hair to remove and no need to wash the hair on Stiles’ head. Just the basics. Of course, that didn’t stop Derek from working a soapy finger carefully into Stiles’ bum. That was certainly a first.

 

Stiles let out a frustrated sound of discomfort at the penetration as he wasn’t stretched and the soap irritated his skin, but there was still plenty of cream from Peter’s diapering and Derek’s finger slid in despite Stiles’ protests.  A few thrusts of the soapy digit and Derek was apparently content that Stiles was clean, even there,  and then left him alone.

 

A s Derek drained the water, he wrapped Stiles in a big fluffy towel and got him meticulously dry, then diapered and dressed for bedtime once more in the familiar stars and moons onesie from the night before. Then it was time for Stiles to surrender his pacifier and brush his teeth while Derek supervised.

 

“All clean?” Peter asked from the bathroom doorway just as Derek had scooped up Stiles to carry him to his room. Peter followed. 

 

“All clean, teeth brushed,” Derek confirmed. “And someone’s getting pretty sleepy,” he added, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ temple. Stiles’ eyes were again drooping as he felt the exhaustion from the day catch up with him.

 

Peter moved to draw the drapes, casting his room into relative darkness again, but for the overhead light. Derek settled Stiles onto his mattress and gave a little “aww” at Stiles’ cuteness as Stiles curled around his bunny once again. His thumb came up into his mouth without conscious thought as his eyes closed fully. After only two days, he was so used to having something in his mouth that he sucked his thumb gently without a thought.  Vaguely, Stiles was aware of gentle touches and murmurs to get a good night’s sleep, but he was out before his bedroom light.

 


	6. Day 13, Sunday

Stiles awoke in a dark, quiet room again. His breathing was even and deep, and his eyes squinted even in the gloomy shadows of his room. Normally,  in the time before Stiles had begun this journey, Stiles would sweat in his sleep and wind up tangled in the blankets in an effort to escape them at some point in the night. Now, with no blankets to speak of and his legs bare, the night air creeping in through his cracked window, he felt blessedly cool and free.

 

He'd stopped sucking his thumb at some point in the night, and his bunny laid abandoned beside him. But his own body now lay on his back, starfished out with arms and legs spread and bent. The bulk of his diaper coaxed his thighs wide and splayed to the sides, his hips gently stretched open in his sleep and his body vulnerable and exposed. It was a testament to how safe he was beginning to feel here.

 

Now, as his sleepy brain acclimated itself to his surroundings, he realized what had woken him in the first place. His bladder was full from the liquid diet the night before. It seemed that on bottles, he was unable to hold it until he woke by other means.

 

Stiles relaxed and let his urine flow. It was easier and easier each time to let it go, and particularly easy now when it was dark and he was comfortable and alone. He whimpered a bit in discomfort at the damp diaper against his skin, and his thumb came up into his mouth for comfort.

 

Stiles was still so sleepy. "Daddyyy," he whined around the thumb in his mouth, or at least he half thought he did. It was garbled and quiet, barely more than any involuntary sound. And soon, Stiles felt himself drifting off again as he waited for his rescue. Before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

 

When Stiles next awoke, it was to Derek turning on the light of his room. He blinked awake, disoriented for a moment. "Good morning, sweet boy. Did you have a good sleep last night?" Derek asked.

 

Stiles blinked up at his daddy from his starfish position, then reached up his hands to be picked up as Derek reached down. He was feeling groggy and small, and just wanted some cuddles.

 

"Did you pee in your sleep, baby boy?" Derek asked him with a note of surprise.

 

" Uh-uh,” Stiles denied. “ Woke up,”  he mumbled to correct him and snuggled into Derek's embrace.

 

"Ah, I see. You woke up to go and fell back asleep."

 

"Uh-huh."

 

"Daddy's sleepy boy." Derek allowed Stiles' clinginess, and moved them to the rocking chair to sit and rock while Stiles cuddled against him.  This morning , Derek didn’t immediately rush to change Stiles, though Stiles didn’t really mind. In his grogginess, he’d barely noticed, and the diaper had had time to absorb most of the wet, wicking it away from his skin.

 

V aguely, Stiles wondered what time it was. When he shifted a bit in Derek’s lap, snuffling a bit as he slowly grew more awake, Derek finally decided he’d had enough early morning cuddles and it was time to get cleaned up and dressed.

 

“Come on, pup. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Derek carted Stiles over to the familiar changing table, and Stiles laid totally pliant and loose limbed. He was always at his most spacey and cooperative, and most receptive to affection, upon waking.

 

Stiles sighed pleasantly at the feel of the cool wipes on his skin. He sucked his thumb and let his eyes fall mostly shut as Derek worked, and sunk into the sensation of just how good it felt to be clean again. He hadn’t noticed that he’d become slightly itchy until Derek made the feeling go away. Then the cream that was rubbed all over him was like a balm.

 

“You’re so relaxed after a good sleep, aren’t you?” Derek marvelled as he eased a finger into Stiles’ tight little hole. Stiles only hummed in agreement or pleasure, enjoying the gentle stimulation and slight stretch. The more often Derek did this, the easier the initial penetration was, he realized. His anus was growing used to having something gently thrust inside.

 

W hen Stiles wriggled a little to get more stimulation, Derek took that as his cue to pull away and finish taping up Stiles’ diaper.  A quick change of clothes and then they were off to the bathroom, where Stiles was forced to wake up enough to stand on his own and brush his teeth. Derek, he noticed, had had time this morning to already dress himself and looked completely refreshed. And though the sun was still barely cresting the horizon, the gloom outside was a bit lighter than before.

 

As they approached the kitchen, Stiles was assailed with the smell of pancakes permeating the air. His stomach gave a hungry rumble and his mouth watered. But his docile mood held out for now, and he accepted the bottle of formula readily as Derek held him and Peter continued to cook.

 

“Today’s Sunday,” Derek told him while he drank. Was it? Stiles felt as if he’d lost track of time. “That means play time, relaxation, and fun.” Stiles smiled up at his daddy. That did sound nice, though it didn’t sound too different from a regular day thus far.

 

“You know,” Derek turned his attention to Peter, “Stiles wet in the middle of the night. He told me he woke up to do it and fell back asleep. But it means he might learn to go while he sleeps, all on his own.”

 

Peter paused in his cooking to look over, clearly surprised. “That’s more than I’d expected of him,” he admitted. “And only on his third day.”

 

Stiles felt a warmth in his chest at the realization that he’d pleased them somehow, though he wasn’t sure what wetting himself could do for them. Nor was he really certain he’d learn to do it involuntarily, though he supposed it didn’t matter so long as they continued to take care of him. Right now, safe and warm in Derek’s arms, it just didn’t seem like much of a big deal. Not worth obsessing over at the very least.

 

By the time Stiles had finished his breakfast, the pancakes were done and stacked on two plates for Derek and Peter. Derek transferred Stiles to his high chair and strapped him in place, then handed him a sippy cup of water as he had the day before,and his Adderall. Stiles dutifully took his pill, and sipped at his water as he watched the others settle down at the table to eat real food.

 

To his utter shock, Peter transferred one very small, very plain pancake to a little plate for Stiles and placed it on his table for him. “Since you’ve been so good this morning, bunny. And since it’s Sunday,” he told him, ruffling Stiles’ hair. The pancake had been cut up into little bite sized pieces and had no butter or syrup on it, but Stiles didn’t care. Compared to his usual fare, this was practically a feast. And it had come from  _Peter_ , the disciplinarian. It was unreal.

 

Stiles reached out to grab a piece of pancake with his bare hand as no utensils had been provided, and pressed it into his mouth, savouring the texture and taste. He let out a small moan of appreciation and heard Derek chuckle.

 

“Go slow, baby,” Derek warned him with a hint of amusement in his voice, and he turned to eat his own breakfast more normally while Stiles was careful to take his time and make the pancake last. And really, he was already full from the formula he’d drank for breakfast. The pancake was purely a bonus.

 

S tiles only listened with half an ear to Derek and Peter as they discussed plans for the day. Apparently, after breakfast they would go for a run, though Stiles wasn’t sure how he’d factor into that as he’d barely been allowed to walk.

 

Once both dishes and Stiles had been deemed clean, Stiles found out what a Sunday run meant, as to his surprise both Derek and Peter began to strip, leaving their clothes on a chair by the back door. Stiles watched with fascination as he sucked in his pacifier, which had been pressed firmly into his mouth once more. Though honestly, he had very little to say as he watched the proceedings. Thus far, naked time meant sex time, but neither of his guardians seemed to be headed in that direction.

 

Stiles watched with rapt attention and an instinctive horror as both Derek and Peter’s faces, then bodies warped before him into monsters he’d only seen in photographs and video before now. This was it. He’d been waiting for so long to see a werewolf in its shifted form, and now his guardians were doing it before him. Stiles heart raced in his chest as he watched them. Though he intellectually knew he could trust these men, some dormant instinct kicked in to make him nervous anyway.

 

Their faces were animalistic and their nails had turned to claws. Their bodies spouted hair and shifted dimensions. On Derek, it was more subtle, though his appearance was still startling. Still, he was the most humanoid of the two. Peter, meanwhile, was not a full wolf, but was definitely more animal than man, or perhaps simply more monster as the jutting bones of his body looked unnatural under the skin.

 

Peter stalked up to Stiles on all fours while Stiles waited on the sofa where he’d been set down, and Stiles curled back a bit instinctively at the look of him. But Peter just pressed his muzzle close to Stiles’ neck and breathed in with a harsh, snuffling sound. A sub-vocal growl seemed to emanate from his chest, and Stiles hesitantly reached out a trembling hand to pet Peter’s head like a dog. Nothing had prepared him for this interaction, and he couldn’t quite manage to remain fully calm.

 

Peter’s eyes flashed red and he mouthed at Stiles’ neck, sharp teeth latching around the juncture of neck and shoulder to simply hold but not damage. Stiles’ whole body froze as he felt it, then he remembered what Peter usually seemed to like from Derek and tilted his head slightly to the side, baring his neck further to the  A lpha. Peter pulled away enough to lick a stripe up Stiles neck, and then turned back to the open door.

 

Peter let out a little growl and a huff, then took off at a run out the door and into the forest. Derek spared only enough time to sling Stiles on his back, piggyback style, before he was off at a loping run following behind. Stiles could only cling on as Derek’s speed was incredible. He had little time to worry about monsters now, as his sole focus was wind and motion, and Derek’s clawed hands holding his legs carefully but securely around his waist.

 

Stiles clung tightly as the ground rushed by. He couldn’t fathom how far into the woods they’d gone already, and still the wolves beat an aggressive pace. They were silent but for the sound of their breath, and panting growls that were just barely perceptible. Stiles marvelled at how they leapt higher than a human could ever hope to or changed direction with supernatural agility.

 

And these men, these monsters, were his guardians. They’d taken him with them for this weekly ritual of pack bonding for their minuscule little pack. It was difficult to wrap his head around.

 

When Peter finally came to rest in a clearing, the morning sun was out in full and the chill had eased considerably from the forest air. The grass was still wet with dew, but Derek paid it no mind as he set Stiles down upon it and slowly shifted back to his nude humanoid form. Soon Peter had fully shifted as well, paying no mind to the bareness of his body or the mud stains on his hands and feet.  His skin shone with a glisten of sweat, but he seemed energized rather than fatigued.

 

S tiles stared at them both for a moment as they settled comfortably in the sun to rest. The ever-present pacifier deterred him from a number of things he had the urge to say. First and foremost: holy shit. Or maybe a simple “wow” would suffice. Not to mention the numerous questions that crowded his head, demanding answers.

 

“All the light touches, Simba, is yours,” Peter told Stiles with a grand gesture of his arm, and Stiles couldn’t help devolving into a borderline hysterical fit of giggles. Peter knew what _T_ _he Lion King_ was? Stiles hadn’t seen a hint of a television or even magazine in the household. He wasn’t sure if modern human culture even made it into the preserve. But beyond that: Peter made _jokes_?

 

“Or you know,” Derek added, “that was a good portion of our territory. We tend to make a more thorough circuit during the full moon, but Sunday is a good day for a run, and to check whether there have been any changes to the area.”

 

Stiles looked out into the woods around them. He had no idea how far they’d gone, or in what direction. There was no way for him to gauge how large the territory might be, but it felt enormous. Stiles wondered what the wolves had even had time to see or smell when they’d run so fast. Stiles had barely been able to take it in. Now resting on the grass, he realized that he was tired himself after the run, though he’d done little more than cling on.

 

Peter scanned the area, and tilted his head toward the sun. “We’ll rest here for about ten minutes,” he decided, “then get Stiles back to the house.”

 

Peter wandered around, pacing the area and keeping an eye and ear out for trouble, while Derek sat with his back against a nearby tree. Stiles sat in the dewy grass in the silence, appreciating a moment without the ground bouncing beneath him. It was nice here, to feel the sun heating his skin and the damp ground cool on his legs. His toes scrunched closed on some grass and he couldn’t remember the last time before this lifestyle that he’d gone anywhere intentionally barefoot.  He almost envied the others their nudity here and now as the mounting summer heat caused him to sweat into his already scant garments.

 

W hen their break was up, Stiles was ready to get home as well. He was hot and sweaty himself, and he wanted a drink of water. Not only that, but he suspected he had to pee soon and didn’t want to wait to be changed. When Peter and Derek shifted this time it was still startling but he was ready for it, and was eager to climb aboard his monstrous mount.  Stiles nuzzled his face in against Derek’s neck and wrapped his arms around his chest as Derek hiked him up on his back and set off at an easy lope through the woods.

 

~ ~~

 

Stiles was hot and sticky from sweat when they got home, and tired from the excursion though he’d done little compared to the wolves. He’d wet himself on the way home, unable to hold it any longer, and his skin and clothing both were dirty from his time on the damp ground. He was thirsty and uncomfortable, and Derek and Peter were both sweaty as well, their feet (and in Peter’s case, palms) were stained with earth, and everyone was in need of a good cleaning.

 

The three of them trekked into the bathroom up the stairs, Peter carrying his and Derek’s clothes with them along the way. Peter took the shower first while Derek sat Stiles on the counter and gave him a sink bath with a damp cloth to get off most of the dirt. Then he changed his diaper and onesie in his room while Peter finished up. Derek handed Stiles off to Peter while he took his own quick shower.

 

“Thirsty, Peter,” Stiles complained as he slumped tiredly into Peter’s arms.

 

“Are you? Well, we can’t have that. Let’s get you something to drink and settle down to read until lunch time. How does that sound?”

 

That sounded incredible, really. Stiles was feeling much more comfortable already with the change in clothes and the relative coolness of the house. He was tired and feeling good from the excursion, and just wanted to do something cozy for a time. Soon enough, he had his sippy cup of water in his mouth instead of his pacifier, and he was curled up in Peter’s arms on the couch while Peter read.  First it was the book on littles from the day before. Then when Stiles was feeling suitably small and relaxed himself, Peter read to him from the tome again -- a section that was quite pornographic and all about an  A lpha’s knot. He showed Stiles the old drawings and read to him in a child-like voice, asking him if he was excited to be knotted too, come full moon. Stiles wasn’t so sure about that as he eyed the proportions in the drawings dubiously, but his cock gave an interested twitch nonetheless,  and his anus flexed around nothing .

 

S tiles could hear in the background that Derek had come downstairs as well and was puttering around in the kitchen. Time seemed to move more slowly as Stiles curled against Peter and Peter continued to quietly read to him. He was able to simply drift, enjoying the cuddles and hardly noticing  anymore how Peter’s hand gently stroked his upper thigh or cupped his diapered crotch as they sat together.

 

When Derek stepped into the living room with a bottle, Stiles realized that indeed it had already reached lunch time, and his stomach was empty once again. He could smell something cooking in the kitchen, but apparently Peter was content to simply feed him here on the couch. Stiles let himself be tilted back into the familiar pose and opened his mouth to receive the bottle willingly.  He still didn’t like the texture or taste, but there was something very soothing about the familiarity of it now. Something nice about the suckling motion, and the way Peter held him close. The comfortable fullness of the warm milk in his belly.

 

Stiles’ eyes were drooping by the time he’d finished, and Peter pressed his pacifier into his mouth once more. He sucked on it without thought, curling into Peter for comfort and barely noticed Peter hauling him upstairs and arranging him in his bed. By the time the drapes were drawn, Stiles was already falling asleep.

 

~~~

 

Stiles woke up to the sounds of Derek moving about his room and to the brightness of the sun flooding through the opened curtains. He barely had to think about wetting himself now, knowing the routine. Then Derek whisked him over to the changing table to prepare him for his cuddle time with Peter. Stiles felt his stomach flutter in excitement at the thought of it. He could hardly wait.

 

Stiles squirmed a bit and let his legs fall open further as Derek gently tugged his scrotum with a lotion-covered hand as he rubbed it into the smooth skin there. He let out an approving grunt at the sensation of it. With the arousal already building under his skin, intimate touches had become one of Stiles’ favourite things in this household.

 

“You eager to sit on Uncle Peter’s lap, baby?” Derek asked with a smile.

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles acknowledged as he sucked his pacifier. He let out a soft sigh as Derek’s finger nudged inside of his hole. But as soon as it was there, it was gone, much to Stiles’ frustration. He looked up to see what Derek was doing, and soon he was in Derek’s arms and they were on their way downstairs, Stiles’ bottom hanging free and his onesie rucked up to his stomach.

 

“There he is,” Peter said with a smile from his naked perch on the couch.

 

“I thought you’d like to stretch him out,” Derek offered, sitting himself down on the sofa and pulling Stiles between them, Stiles’ shoulders laying in Derek’s lap while his bum was on display to Peter.

 

“Of course,” Peter agreed readily. “Does baby need some nice touches to his hole?” he asked in a playful voice, and moved to coat his own fingers in lube.

 

Derek meanwhile rucked Stiles’ onesie further up on his chest and helped to pull it off of him, then let his hands settle over his chest, thumbs gently rubbing against his nipples. Stiles hadn’t had very much nipple play in the past, but he could feel a pleasant zing shoot through him as Derek continued to rub, causing them to gain sensitivity as they tightened further over time.

 

“You just relax, sweetheart,” Derek urged him, as if he could relax with Derek doing that to his chest, and with the feeling of one of Peter’s thick fingers stretching into his hole. Still, he was feeling soft and boneless from sleep, and he spread his legs, knees falling to the side widely so that Peter had easy access to do whatever he wanted to do.

 

As before, Peter’s finger nudged into his prostate, causing Stiles to let out a soft little moan of pleasure at the contact. “Oh!” Peter acted surprised at finding it. “There’s baby’s little bump.”  He thrust his finger in and out a few more times, missing it, then stretched Stiles open with two fingers, crooking them intentionally back into the sensitive nub. Stiles moaned and his cock began to fatten as much as it could inside its cage.

 

“Are you feeling good, sweetheart?” Peter asked him.

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles confirmed, a bit breathlessly. Then he twitched again as Derek took each of his nipples between his thumb and forefinger and gave them a gentle squeeze. His body was on fire from the stimulation. He trembled as Derek’s fingers took up their continual rub once again and Peter continued stretching open his hole.

 

“Look at how cute and small those nipples are,” Peter remarked to Derek.

 

“Aren’t they?” Derek enthused, and flicked them each with the back of his thumb nail. “Baby Stiles’ sweet little nips.” He pinched them again and gave them a bit of a tug, plucking at them and making them go hard and red and tight. Stiles whimpered and squirmed at the attention. “Look how they just want to be pinched.” Derek smiled and gave them another firm pinch.

 

“Are you ready to sit on my lap, darling?” Peter asked, and Stiles realized that his hole was stretched as well as ever. Not waiting for a reply, Peter scooped Stiles up and away from Derek to reposition him, this time with his back to Peter for the penetration. His legs were splayed wide to either side of Peter’s and Peter made no effort to close his knees. Rather he used them to nudge Stiles own legs wider. He had no shoulders to grasp onto this time, but instead tried to steady his hands against Peter’s knees as he leant forward a bit.

 

The angle of penetration felt different inside of him as well, and Stiles let out a groan as he felt Peter lodge within him, pressing deep into his guts anew. And as always, Peter was in total control of Stiles’ decent, a firm steady hand pressing him down until he was fully impaled.

 

Stiles felt as if he were going to fall, continually, and the only thing keeping him up was his tenuous grasp of Peter’s knees and Peter’s iron grip on his hips as he shifted Stiles minutely up and down. His thighs burned from the strain of feeling so off balance, but really he could do little to support or direct himself at all with his legs spread so wide. And internally, he felt Peter stretching him from new angles, bumping and grinding against his prostate more now than ever before. He let out a choked sob, muffled behind the pacifier that he worried in his mouth.

 

“Shh,” Peter soothed him. “Just let go, Stiles. Let Uncle Peter take care of you.”

 

It was too much, it was all too much, and so Stiles gave in. He slumped against Peter, feeling his cock nudge just that millimeter closer, and then let the wolf take over moving him entirely, relying on his supernatural strength. It wasn’t a hard fucking, not from so awkward an angle, but it was deep and persistent. Stiles little cock strained in its cage, and as the cock inside him continually nudged at his prostate he felt his precum ooze its way out.

 

As Peter picked up his pace, Stiles fel l apart in his arms, and let out a continual stream of little mewls of pleasure and over-sensitivity. How was it that Peter could make him feel so  _good_ ?

 

Stiles shuddered and clenched down on Peter’s cock, desperate to feel something more, something to push him over the edge as well, but even that added stimulation fell well short. Or at least, it wasn’t enough for Stiles, but Peter let out a surprised groan and held him fast, and Stiles could feel Peter’s cock twitch inside of him as he shot his load.

 

“Good boy,” Peter told him breathlessly, and nuzzled against Stiles neck, breathing in his scent and letting little sucking kisses to taste and mark him.

 

Stiles slumped back against Peter’s chest as the cock continued to impale him. He whimpered at Peter’s kisses, his skin still hot and his cock still painful in its cage. He was going to burst if Peter didn’t do something to help him, he knew it.

 

Just then something warm splashed across Stiles chest. He opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed, and saw Derek stroking his cock before him, aiming his cum directly onto Stiles’ exposed body. He even leaned in to wipe the final drops off on Stiles’ collarbone.

 

Peter’s hands came up to rub Derek’s cum into Stiles chest, thumbs gliding over sore nipples, then smoothing the ejaculate over Stiles’ stomach, down to his exposed crotch and into his swollen balls.  Stiles squirmed a bit -- were they really doing this? -- and Peter shushed him again until he resigned himself to the treatment. Some of the cum seemed to absorb into his skin, while the rest left him coated in a thin film that would dry and flake as the day continued. He only hoped it wouldn’t itch.

 

But the real distraction was the gentle tug on his sore balls, which didn’t help at all to relieve him of his arousal. Stiles let out continual little gasps of pleasure at the tugs and caresses that drove him to distraction.

 

Peter’s body behind him was lax and languid and fucked out as he played. “You like that, darling?” he asked as he continued to fondle, ignoring Stiles’ straining cock in its cage.

 

“What a needy boy,” Derek added from beside them where he’d sat back down, clothes done up once again as he relaxed and recovered. “He can’t get enough special touches.” Derek watched for a moment longer. “Do you think we should milk him?” he asked a bit worriedly. “His little cock is straining so hard.”

 

“Relax, Derek. He’ll learn to calm himself. If he’d just relax into it and breathe he wouldn’t get quite so worked up. He just needs practice. And besides, Deaton said he’d only need to be milked if he hasn’t managed to relieve himself in a month either through nocturnal emission or during playtime. Does he look like he’s in pain to you? He looks to me like he’s feeling very nice.”

 

Stiles was flushed from head to toe and shimmering with sweat and cum. Though his cock strained, he  tried to remain pliant in Peter’s embrace, because Peter was right -- it felt the most incredible when he just relaxed and took it, even as it made him feel like something might explode.

 

“Poor baby hasn’t had anything special to suck on today.” Derek lamented. He pried the pacifier out of Stiles’ mouth and pressed two of his fingers inside. Stiles immediately began to suck on them, focused on anything that would take the edge off his desperation. He felt Derek move them in and out of his lips, fucking his mouth with them and petting along the palate of his tongue. Stiles’ tongue curled around them and he hummed huskily as Derek pressed his fingers back much farther than his pacifier could go. Derek tasted like sweat and sex, and made Stiles’ mouth water.

 

Slowly, Stiles’ head cleared enough for him to realize that the others were sitting relatively still, and it was only him who still moved and moaned with desperation. Derek’s fingers pet his tongue in slow, languid strokes as he let Stiles suck on him as he wanted, and Peter fondled him very gently while he gave Stiles’ body a chance to calm. It took a while, and his cock ached terribly, throbbing against the bars between his legs.

 

Finally, Stiles released Derek’s fingers from his mouth and laid his head back against Peter’s strong chest, simply closing his eyes and catching his breath. He felt Peter’s soft cock slide out of his hole beneath him.

 

“I suppose we should get him cleaned up,” Peter said with a small sigh, finally pulling his hand away from Stiles’ crotch.

 

“I’ll get the ice,” Derek offered, standing up.

 

“No, Daddy, don’t,” Stiles pleaded to him, giving his best puppy dog eyes. He felt just how widely Peter had his legs spread right now and suddenly was aware of his vulnerability, his crotch on easy display as his little cock still strained in its confines.

 

“Stiles, what did we say about big boy sentences?” Peter warned softly.

 

“But --” Stiles wanted to argue. He hated the ice.

 

“You had a nice moment to try and calm down,” Peter explained to him. “But your body isn’t ready yet.” Stiles looked on helplessly. Derek had already disappeared into the kitchen. “This will only take a moment. You know it doesn’t hurt. It’ll take some of the ache away.”

 

Stiles wanted to argue, but Peter had managed to locate Stiles’ pacifier from the sofa and pressed it back into his mouth before he could make another complaint.

 

“You remember how this goes,” Derek said as he showed up with the towel-wrapped ice pack in hand. “Three big breaths for Daddy,” he instructed, then pressed the cold package to Stiles’ crotch as Stiles squealed in discomfort, trying to close his legs as Peter held them wide.

 

“One...” Derek inhaled and exhaled in an exaggerated manner as he watched to see Stiles try and mimic him. He smiled encouragingly as Stiles got with the program. “Two....” Stiles shuddered out his second breath, then filled his lungs one final time as the cold seeped into him. “And three,” Derek finished, finally pulling the pack away to reveal a very wilted little cock and shrunken balls.

 

Peter continued to hold Stiles while Derek removed Stiles’ cock cage and got out the wipes. He cleaned Stiles well as Peter scooted him down so he was lying back, and hooked his hands under Stiles’ knees to splay his legs so Derek could clean his stretched hole.

 

Then came his cage again while he was still nice and soft, and a generous amount of cream.  Derek tickled the tip of his finger into Stiles’ slightly gaping rim. “Did Uncle Peter stimulate your pretty hole?” he asked rhetorically as he rubbed the cream against Stiles’ slightly sore entrance. Then came the diaper, but his torso was left covered with Derek’s now dried cum. It did flake, as Stiles had expected, and unfortunately it was a bit itchy. But the cum was left on and covered by Stiles’ onesie as he was dressed once again.

 

"What should we do with the rest of our day, bunny?" Derek asked Stiles as he finished doing up his clothes. Peter set him aside to finally clean himself up and get dressed as well.

 

Was Derek really asking him? Stiles blinked in surprise. Up until now, Peter and Derek had totally set the schedule. He almost didn't know his options. Though he supposed that if they'd already been outside for the day, and already done some reading... "Play?" he asked shyly, his eyes darting to the chest where he now knew Peter kept some toys.

 

"Sure. Let me see if I can't find something to suit all of us," Derek said, and he went to rummage in the chest while Stiles waited curiously.

 

By the time Derek had found what he was looking for, Peter had finished getting dressed. He caught sight of what was in Derek's hand and smiled. "Let's go into the yard with that," he suggested, and scooped Stiles up in order to relocate him.

 

When they were settled in some mossy grass, Derek revealed his choice. Stiles' eyes lit up as he recognized the familiar container that could only be bubbles.

 

Derek smiled too, and took out the wand to blow bubbles toward Stiles, who watched them contentedly for some time. Then Peter lashed out with claws and slashed one. Stiles gasped at the sudden movement, but then he keyed into the new game. Now Derek made them harder to reach as Stiles leapt around barefoot to catch them before they popped, Peter stretching out one clawed hand as well whenever one drifted his way.

 

Somehow bubble blowing devolved into tickling Stiles until he was breathless, and then a slow walk around the house, Stiles holding one of their hands on either side. Derek pointed out to Peter things he'd noticed when he'd worked on the flowerbeds. Peter pointed out a tree some distance away he was convinced would need to come down before it fell. And Stiles was just content to look and listen. For now, it really felt like he was the child in a real family. Like he could get used to this, and that it truly was home.

 

~~~

 

When they went back into the house, it was time to start supper. Derek strapped Stiles into his chair, and Peter took a seat at the table as well to chat. While Derek worked on pulling everything together, Stiles was surprised to find he was actually allowed to help. Well, help was perhaps a generous term. But he was allowed to snap the ends off of green beans, and he was allowed to stir a few ingredients that would be used to make a sauce.

 

The growing aromas as always made Stiles' stomach rumble hungrily, and he wished he could have just a taste of whatever it was. He was given his sippy cup of water instead while his pacifier was taken. That did help take the edge off for a while, but then Stiles saw Derek pulling the familiar bottle down from the cupboard, and assembling the various things that went into the concoction on the stove.

 

Stiles cast a worried glance at Peter. He didn't want a laxative again tonight. He didn't like what they did to his tummy.

 

"Uncle Peter?" he asked shyly, keeping his gaze on his cup but glancing up.

 

"What is it, darling?" Peter asked.

 

"No laxative?" he asked hopefully, worried that he was saying too much, or the wrong thing, and that Peter would be mad.

 

"I don't know, bunny," Peter answered cautiously. "Do you think you can go without some help this time?"

 

He didn't want to, but he also didn't want the cramps that came along with that "help". "Uh-huh," he confirmed and tried to look earnest.

 

Peter pressed his lips together as he considered, and he and Derek shared some indecipherable look between them. Derek shrugged. "Alright," Peter decided. "We’ll give you your regular bottle tonight, and you can try to go on your own. But if you can't manage by the end of supper time, Uncle Peter will help you with the suppository."

 

It was a risky gambit, Stiles thought. The suppository was even worse than the laxative. But he nodded his understanding and willingness to comply. He really didn't want to shit himself, but at the same time he really wanted to make this work. He wanted to please his guardians, and he wanted to show them he could do this on his own, and be allowed to try without discomfort.

 

Stiles was so relieved that the bottle would not in fact contain the laxative, that he drank for Peter quite willingly, almost forgetting entirely about real food. Really, it had been a perfect Sunday, and now the day was winding down to a decent finish. Stiles was secure in Peter's arms and his belly was full of warm milk once again. Even the act of drinking the bottle as he was tilted back and held was beginning to feel comforting, in and of itself.

 

Once Stiles had finished his meal he was set back in his chair with his sippy cup of water if he wanted it, and soon thereafter Peter and Derek began to eat as well. Stiles eyed them as they ate and chatted, and knew that he had better accomplish his goal soon. The minutes were ticking away.

 

Without the urgency of the laxative, Stiles almost thought he didn't have to go. But if he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could feel the familiar pressure in his gut. At the agency, he reminded himself, he'd gone like clockwork, every day after his shower, right after supper. It was no different now, and picturing his old routine did a bit to help. It reminded his body that yes, he had to empty himself, even if his stomach didn't cramp.

 

Actually managing to relax enough to push it out was another matter entirely. Years of practicing just the opposite locked his body in a struggle against his mind. If he wasn’t on a toilet, it didn’t want to let go. He couldn’t help but imagine how it would feel, how it would smell, how it would embarrass him. And the nerves he felt at _failing_ in this task didn’t help either as that only served to make him more tense.

 

This was a stupid idea. He should have taken the laxative. He couldn’t do it, and now he was going to have to contend with something worse. Not only that, but Peter would be so disappointed in him.  As if sensing what was on his mind, Peter glanced his way while he continued to eat his supper. “It’s alright if you can’t do it, sweetheart,” he said simply. “Neither of us wants to upset you. We just want to help you feel comfortable before it’s time for bed.”

 

“I can do it,” Stiles hurried to say, but he caught himself wanting to explain further, to open his mouth and vomit out a cascade of words.

 

“Maybe we should just let him go on his own time,” Derek suggested mildly. “He can’t hold it forever.”

 

And that, Stiles thought, was also a good point. But he didn’t like to think of having to hold it through bath time, and into the night. Would he need to call one of them back to change him in the middle of the night time then? Would he find himself uncomfortably holding it in until morning?

 

“I don’t want him to get into this habit of holding it,” Peter argued back.

 

“We don’t want him to become dependent on aids either,” Derek reasoned.

 

Peter pushed away his now empty plate, and Stiles wondered where the time had gone. Supper was over already. “I’ll give you the choice,” Peter told Stiles. “Would you like Uncle Peter to help you go, or do you want to be left to do it on your own?”

 

Stiles felt the weight of responsibility land on his shoulders. It was rare that he got to choose anything in this household, and he didn’t want to make the wrong decision. His brain raced frantically, trying to see the trick or test. Was there an option he was supposed to take because it was better for him, or would please them more? Then again, perhaps Peter had no ulterior motives in this. Perhaps he really did just want to make Stiles as comfortable as was possible in this.

 

“Uhm...” Stiles’ voice quavered uncertainly. He didn’t want either of those options, and he didn’t want to have to choose.

 

“Do you want Uncle Peter to choose for you?” Peter asked, his whole countenance seeming to soften as he took in Stiles’ distress.

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles admitted, paralyzed with indecision.

 

“Come on, then,” Peter said, getting up from his chair. He unstrapped Stiles from his high chair and picked him up to haul upstairs. “I’ll take care of this while you handle the dishes. Then I think we’ll have a nice bath.”

 

Derek nodded his assent, letting Peter decide Stiles’ fate in this one, and Peter carried Stiles up the stairs. Stiles’ heart raced because he knew what was coming and it was awful, but at the same time he felt something very like relief because the ordeal was about to soon be over, at least for tonight.

 

Peter laid Stiles down on his changing table and had his onesie and diaper off in a flash. Soon he was pressing one well lubed suppository up into his hole with his finger. Then he taped up Stiles’ diaper again and picked him up to pace gently around the room and wait.

 

Stiles felt the difference within minutes as the thing dissolved and cau s ed his whole bowel to spasm. Whatever was in this thing, the evacuation was involuntary and abrupt. There was no holding back when he felt himself finally release and a mess of wet slop filled his diaper, hanging heavily between his legs. He could feel it squish around him where Peter’s supporting arm dug in, and he wondered how the man could stand it. How could he stand the smell, and the clean up? How could he stand holding Stiles while he did this? He buried his face against Peter’s neck in embarrassment, but for whatever incomprehensible reason Peter didn’t seem  phased at all. He simply waited until it was clear Stiles had finished,  both with evacuating bowels and bladder alike, then took him back to the changing table to get cleaned up.

 

Stiles averted his gaze throughout, trying to imagine he was anywhere but there. Still, he was grateful for the efficiency with which Peter got him clean.

 

“I don’t want you to feel bad, sweetheart,” Peter told him gently. “Now perhaps you’ll see what happens when you think you know better than your guardians. We’re here to care for you. You don’t have to worry about these decisions any longer.”

 

Perhaps that was true, Stiles conceded, feeling very tired. Perhaps he should just stop caring about what was or wasn’t in his formula, and just let Peter and Derek decide from now on. It seemed right now that they did know Stiles better than he knew himself. And they clearly weren’t out to humiliate him or cause him undue discomfort.

 

When the mess had been cleared away, Peter pulled Stiles’ onesie off as well and picked him up to carry him to the bathroom. Stiles could now hear that Derek had arrived before them and was already drawing a bath.

 

“Everything go alright?” Derek asked, looking over Stiles’ frown with a critical eye.

 

“He’s fine,” Peter assured him. “I think now he’s just tired.”

 

“Let’s get you cleaned up then, and tucked into bed,” Derek suggested, and Peter deposited him into the hot water.

 

It felt perfect, and Stiles couldn’t argue with Derek’s proposed plan. He was subdued as Derek washed him, wondering whether every night was going to be such an ordeal. He didn’t even fuss this time when Derek penetrated his sore hole with a soapy digit to make sure it was meticulously clean.

 

Once Stiles was clean and dry and his cage was back in place, Derek took his time in applying the diaper cream. He was thorough and gentle, as if trying to make up for Stiles’ earlier ordeal with soft touches now. And Stiles soaked it up. It was as if the more affection they allowed him, the more he wanted to receive. When Derek eased a creamy finger into his irritated hole, Stiles simply tried to relax, enjoying the feel of the soothing cream.

 

Next came the diaper and his onesie for the night. Then Stiles dutifully brushed his teeth, and was settled into bed. His thumb came up to his mouth out of habit as he curled around his bunny once more.

 

“Sweet dreams, Stiles,” Derek told him, giving his hair one last pet.

 

“Don’t worry, darling,” Peter added, “tomorrow will be easier.”

 

Derek and Peter left the room, turning out his light and leaving Stiles in the quiet and darkness of his room. He took a moment to reflect on what Peter had said. Tomorrow would be easier. Perhaps it was true. Because Stiles had decided that tomorrow night when the time came, he was going to do his best not to question any more. If he could just let go and trust them to take care of him, everything would be fine.

 

~~~

 

Stiles awoke in the night, sprawled on his stomach. It was dark and he was still tired, so he knew it couldn’t be morning. It took him just a moment to feel the familiar pressure in his bladder as gravity pressed him into it, increasing his urgency to go. Oh, so that was all, he thought vaguely, and concentrated on relaxing himself enough to let the urine flow. What used to feel tremendously irritating, now only felt vaguely warm as he drifted immediately back to sleep.

 


	7. Day 14, Monday

“Were you already awake, sweetheart?” Peter asked as he came into the dark room, turning on the lights. He moved to open the curtains, though the morning was still in its pre-dawn phase. In his crib, Stiles had been awake but dozing for the last few minutes, curled on his side around his bunny and thumb in his mouth.

 

“Uh-huh,” he answered sleepily.

 

“I see you’re a sleepy boy this morning,” Peter told him as he lifted him out of his bed and carried him over to his table to be changed. “Did you wake up to pee last night?” he checked, obviously wanting to know whether it had been voluntary on Stiles’ part.

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles confirmed.

 

“Well. We’ll just get you cleaned up now, shall we?” Peter asked rhetorically, already setting about getting Stiles cleaned. Stiles wondered vaguely were Derek was, unused to having Peter first thing in the morning. Derek was cuddlier and softer, and always rattled off pleasant nonsense. Peter, by comparison, was very quiet.

 

Stiles continued to suck his thumb as Peter rubbed him with cream, and Peter smirked a bit at him. “You just need something to suck on, don’t you, baby?”

 

Stiles got the innuendo and squirmed as Peter rubbed his balls. “Uh-huh,” he confirmed breathily.  He could just imagine the feel of Peter’s thick cock filling his mouth instead of his thumb.

 

“And how’s your little hole?” Peter asked as he rubbed around the entrance. “Feeling better?”

 

It felt fine, Stiles realized. Every morning there was no longer any irritation lingering from the previous night. But he didn’t have time to confirm that to Peter, because he was already gasping in a breath as Peter eased in a slippery finger.

 

It seemed that much like with Derek, Peter couldn’t resist teasing him first thing in the morning either. Stiles certainly wasn’t going to complain. It felt good, even if it did leave him worked up and unsatisfied.

 

“I know how to wake up a sleepy boy,” Peter said slyly, and nudged his finger back and forth against Stiles’ prostate. It certainly did wake him up, as his whole body flushed with arousal. Stiles’ thumb fell away from his mouth as he let out a moan.

 

“Do you like that, sweetheart?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles confirmed. “Uncle Peter,” he gasped helplessly. “Please.”

 

“Please what, baby boy?”

 

“Wanna... wanna cum.” Stiles panted out.

 

But Peter simply eased away from the teasing touch, and cleaned off his hand. Then he started doing up a clean diaper.

 

“Let’s see if nature won’t just take care of that problem for you,” Peter suggested. “Now that you’re feeling more awake, I think it’s time to brush your teeth and go get some breakfast.”

 

Stiles couldn’t argue with that and so he reached up to meet Peter’s arms as he was scooped up once again. After their brief stop in the bathroom, they were seated at the kitchen table as always. Stiles didn’t fuss at all as Peter fed him his bottle that morning, and by the time he’d finished breakfast his arousal had once again faded away.

 

“Are you going to be Daddy’s little helper today?” Derek asked Stiles as Peter transferred him into his chair so he could finish his cereal and coffee. Derek was already halfway through his own.

 

“Uh-huh, Daddy,” Stiles answered happily, reaching out to accept his sippy cup of water from Derek. Just days ago he’d felt rather confined in his high chair, but now he found he only felt secure. Derek placed Stiles’ Adderall on his little table and Stiles took the pill without a second thought.

 

“Monday is clean up day,” Derek divulged. “After breakfast, you can help Daddy do the dusting.”

 

Interesting, Stiles thought. Was he to be given chores? For that matter, was he to be allowed to do something significant? Any further information would wait until later, however, because Peter took the opportunity to ask Derek about what clothes and things needed to be washed, and Stiles was once again ignored.

 

~~~

 

Derek got out some dubious looking home-made spray in a plastic bottle and a stack of rags and carried Stiles into the living room. He just barely dampened a rag with something that smelled suspiciously like vinegar and handed it to Stiles where he’d been set on the floor. “You can handle the bottom shelves, or anything at a low level, okay bunny?” Derek directed him. “Daddy will get all the higher and more difficult stuff.”

 

It wasn’t as if Stiles couldn’t reach where Derek could if he wanted to, but he accepted the rag and started in on the bookshelf nearest to him, taking his time to gather really only a small amount of dust. And no wonder if Derek and Peter did this routine every Monday. Stiles remembered how much messier and more lived-in his old house had felt, and felt a pang of sadness hit him, along with a flood of memories. He pushed them away with all the mental fortitude he could. He wasn’t going to let pain from the past ruin what he was building here.

 

Stiles scooted around the room with his rag, getting the lowest shelves and the top of the wooden chest. He glanced at Derek and saw him occupied with some things higher up. No one had told him  _not_ to look in the toy chest, Stiles reasoned. But at the same time, he wasn’t sure whether he was allowed, as both times Derek or Peter had fetched something from it, Stiles hadn’t been invited to look or choose. He cracked the lid and took a curious peek.

 

“Ah-ah,” Derek corrected him, hearing the creak and immediately seeing what he was up to. “Chores on Monday, Stiles, at least for now. We’ll play with your toys later.”

 

Stiles let the lid fall, not having seen anything at all. And Derek’s admonishment hadn’t answered anything.  Was he deterring Stiles because he wasn’t allowed in the chest? Because the chest was hiding some surprise? Or did he really just want Stiles to focus on the chores?

 

He didn’t have long to wonder as Derek had suddenly teleported across the room and scooped him up. “Come on. I can tell you’ve had about enough of dusting. Let’s go see what your Uncle Peter is doing upstairs.”

 

Peter, it turned out, was in one of the three mystery rooms down the hall. Stiles hadn’t been in it before and he’d wondered if those three doors were simply off limits, but Derek walked in as if it were no big deal at all. Stiles saw immediately it was a bedroom, with a large bed, a night  stand , a dresser, and an old-fashioned  armoire. There was a low table in front of the window piled with books, but otherwise the room lacked personality as far as he could tell. Peter was busy stripping the bed,  covers piled on the floor with the stripped pillows and sheets obviously going to make their journey into the laundry. Stiles wondered whose room it was as he looked around. Peter’s? Derek’s? Could it be for a guest? There was so little in it, that Stiles could almost believe it, but then why would the sheets need to be changed?

 

“That didn’t last long,” Peter commented dryly, but with an easy smile.

 

“I think Stiles has had enough of dusting. Maybe he’d be a better helper with the laundry.”

 

Peter snorted. “Fine. Leave him with me. I’m sure I can find something to keep him busy.” Peter smirked.

 

Derek settled Stiles onto the edge of the mattress and told him to “be good” before he went back downstairs to finish dusting. Stiles blinked up at Peter, waiting for direction.

 

Peter balled up the top sheet already in his hands, along with the pillowcases. "Do you think you can get the fitted sheet off by the time I get back?" Peter asked, and Stiles' eyes widened a bit. He nodded. "Can I trust you not to get into trouble if I leave you alone?" Peter checked, and that was what had Stiles' eyes so wide in the first place. With the exception of sleep, Stiles was never left alone.

 

"I'll be good," Stiles assured him around his pacifier.  _I be g_ _ud_ .

 

"You'd better be," Peter warned, booping Stiles on the nose affectionately before he headed back into the hall. Stiles could hear him in the distance of the bathroom where the washer and dryer unit were tucked into the wall. He turned his attention back to the task before him.

 

Because the bed was tucked against the wall, the easiest way to remove the sheet was to crawl across it, diaper-clad ass hiked into the air. Stiles snorted back a laugh at the image he must make in his authentically child-like stance while he simply wanted to complete a very adult task. It was easy work, but Peter wasn't gone long. When he came back, Stiles had the fitted sheet in a lo o se pile in the cent er of the mattress, his task complete.

 

"Well," Peter said, sounding satisfied, "I can see that here's the sheet...." he picked it up and held it before him. "But where is Stiles?" he asked before  unfurling the fabric and draping it over Stiles completely.

 

Stiles laughed a bit and moved to crawl free, but Peter tugged the fabric taut whenever Stiles thought he found an opening. His laughter and shrieks only increased in volume as the roughhousing went on, and it devolved entirely into Peter pinning him in a solid hug, fabric snug around him from head to toe, his knees pressed into his chest and Peter's arms tight around him.

 

The two of them laid on the bed as Stiles' laughter subsided, both of them catching their breath as Stiles was held. Peter let him loose after a moment, carefully scrunching up the fabric until Stiles' head popped free and he could more easily breathe.

 

"What do you say, bunny? Should we get Derek's room next?"

 

Stiles glanced around the room again. Did that mean this was Peter's? "Uh-huh," he easily agreed.

 

"Come on then." Peter turned his back to Stiles, and helped him hop on for a piggy back ride, much to Stiles' delight. With his hands hooked around Stiles' legs for support and the sheet still balled in his fists, Peter proceeded to the farthest door, skipping one that for now still remained a mystery.

 

D erek’s room was nearly as lacking in personality as Peter’s had been, though Stiles caught a glimpse of what looked to be a family portrait on top of the tall dresser on the far wall. He itched to take a closer look at it, to see whether Derek and Peter were there and to ask who the other people in it were. And where were they all now?

 

Aside from the picture, the only other real difference in Derek’s room was that it was slightly less kempt than Peter’s. A few shirts were draped over the back of a wooden chair instead of hung or folded away. The drawers and doors weren’t shut tightly. Peter set Stiles down on the floor and hauled Derek’s blanket off the bed, throwing it over Stiles with mock carelessness.

 

Stiles peeked out from under the blanket as he crouched to see under the bed, looking for any juicy clues into Derek’s real personality, but there was nothing there either. Well, he wasn’t a teenaged boy, Stiles supposed. It seemed that Derek took the time to throw tissues in a waste-basket and put dirty socks in a hamper. And really, Stiles had never seen Derek take a plate or glass out of the kitchen to begin with, so there wouldn’t be a stray one there. Stiles shrugged out from under the blanket to watch Peter instead, but he had already finished efficiently stripping the sheets off the bed.

 

Peter tilted his head at the sound of something Stiles couldn’t make out. “ Sounds like the first load in the washer is finished,” he commented, already heading toward the door. “Come on, pup. No dawdling or falling behind.”

 

Stiles scurried to follow after him, surprised he wasn’t being carried around.

 

In the bathroom, Peter transferred the wet clothes into the dryer and began the next load in the washer. Stiles wasn’t at all surprised by this point to note that the detergent was scent free and all natural. It seemed to be a theme among the wolves, with their sensitive noses.

 

The usually neat bathroom floor was piled high with clothes, towels, and sheets, and Stiles was surprised to see several of his onesies making their way to the dryer as well. Of course, he’d been going through them the last few days, but this somehow cemented things as more real. He was a member of the household. He had laundry that needed to be done.

 

When Peter had finished fussing with the laundry, he sat Stiles out of the way on the counter by the sink and began a thorough cleaning of the bathroom, spraying everything with a bottle very much like the one Derek had used, that smelled suspiciously like vinegar, and another bottle of some sort of scent-free hippie soap.

 

Stiles watched the proceedings with a sort of detached curiosity. If he searched the recesses of his memory, he vaguely recalled his mom doing some cleaning. And he knew that his dad had done it too, here and there. But Stiles had never come from a house with a dedicated cleaning day. It was all rather slapdash and done on the go, when something had become too disgusting to live with. Not that his house had ever really been filthy, but there was no system like Peter and Derek seemed to have here. And Stiles realized he’d never really watched anyone clean so efficiently, as Peter breezed through the work like it was nothing.

 

Stiles had hated cleaning his apartment in his old life. It had only been days since he’d left it, but the memory felt weirdly distant and far away. A part of a different world. Then, he’d always been tired after work or school. He’d had errands to run and the difficulties of trying to cook something healthy while having time to shop and carry heavy loads home. He’d had an apartment to try desperately to clean up after, made all the more chaotic by his ADD.

 

Stiles barely had time to reminisce when Peter finished wiping down everything but the counter Stiles sat on and the floors. He shifted Stiles to the toilet to finish up -- counter first, then used some sort of rag stuck to a mop to quickly get at the floor. While vinegar wasn’t Stiles’ favourite smell in the world, he had to admit it was a lot more pleasant than the caustic stuff he’d usually had, and with the fresh breeze coming in off the forest, the place was left smelling rather nice.

 

Stiles itched to do something to help. He’d never been very good at sitting still, and though watching Peter move around was somewhat interesting, it wasn’t exactly the most riveting activity, especially since Stiles remained largely uninvolved.

 

Peter carted Stiles back into his bedroom to begin wiping down the furniture for a quick dusting, and Stiles found himself painfully bored once again. Wasn’t this the reason why Derek had brought him up to Peter? Because watching someone dust was like watching paint dry? He wanted Peter to pay attention to him, to drape him in sheets and blankets as before, but he didn’t want to be a nuisance and annoy the man either.

 

And as Stiles sat fidgeting away, he slowly became aware of another problem he was about to have. He had to pee, especially since Derek had given him that sippy cup during breakfast. Stiles was used to using his diaper now for the most part, but he’d tended to use it at somewhat regular intervals, not often in the middle of the day. But he was going to have to go soon, and Peter would definitely have to stop what he was doing to deal with Stiles. Would he be annoyed? He seemed pretty occupied. And Stiles was sitting on Peter’s mattress right now. Though he hadn’t had a diaper leak yet, it seemed somehow wrong to let himself go like that on someone else’s bed.

 

Peter was oblivious to his difficulties, and scooped Stiles up off the bed to move to the next room, the room behind the mystery door. This was his chance, Stiles thought. He wasn’t on the wolf’s bed anymore, and he’d gone while Peter had carried him before. But before he could concentrate enough to do the deed, Stiles realized where they were heading and became incredibly distracted. He was curious to see what was in this final room.

 

An office, as it turned out, and it was probably the most cluttered room of the house. There were filing cabinets and shelves. A desk littered with books and papers. And to Stiles’ surprise, a laptop and a router. They had internet here? He’d certainly never seen either Derek or Peter actually using it, nor heard them mention it in any way. But then again, they each had a cell phone too that they never seemed to use. He’d seen them charging in the kitchen, though neither Derek or Peter ever seemed to touch them.

 

Here, Peter’s dusting was a lot more cursory as he worked around the clutter and didn’t bother to try and bring order to chaos. Just a quick swipe of what surfaces were exposed seemed to be enough to suit him, and Stiles had barely had a chance to get a good look around before Peter was carting him off once again, back to Derek’s room. Stiles took his chance and clung to Peter while he wet.

 

Peter stopped short of Derek’s door as he no doubt smelled and felt the change. “Do you need a change, sweetheart?” he asked, already turning back toward Stiles’ room instead.

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles agreed. And not only would he get a change of diaper, he’d get a break from the monotony of watching Peter clean.

 

Peter whisked away the mess efficiently, and as always Stiles’ cock cage was off for only moments before it was right back in place. He wriggled a bit when Peter began to apply the lotion, and Stiles really wanted something more exciting to happen. After all, he was used to being teased whenever he was changed. But Peter seemed to have other ideas, already moving to tape a new diaper on.

 

Stiles  let out a small, disappointed whine, and met Peter’s eyes with the most wide-eyed, imploring look he could manage.

 

“Did you want something?” Peter asked with an amused quirk of his lips.

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles confirmed.

 

“And what’s that, sweetheart?”

 

“Special touches,” Stiles said with a blush, both for the juvenile euphemism and for having to ask.

 

“Oh I see. Is baby’s little hole feeling needy again already?” Peter teased him, and gave the outside of Stiles’ anus a tickle.

 

Stiles sucked in an excited breath. “Uh-huh.”

 

“You’ll have to be patient, sweetheart,” Peter told him, going back to finish up the diaper once more. Stiles sighed in defeat, though his cheeks retained their blush. “You’ll have special time with Daddy today, remember? After your nap.”

 

Stiles did remember, but right now nap time seemed quite a distance away.

 

“You know what I think?” Peter asked him, doing up his onesie. “I think maybe my little bunny is just bored. Let’s go downstairs and see what Daddy’s doing. If he can keep an eye on you, I’ll set you up with some colouring. How does that sound?”

 

Colouring right about now sounded amazing, and Stiles gave Peter an enthusiastic, “Uh-huh.” as he lifted his arms to be picked up from the table once again.

 

When they got downstairs, Derek was sweeping the wooden floors with a broom. “That didn’t last long,” Derek commented dryly.

 

“If you’re going to be in the room, I’d like to set Stiles up with some colouring. We’ll have to figure out a new rhythm for our cleaning day or I think he’s going to climb the walls.”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Derek said easily. “That’s a great idea. Let’s put him on the rug so I can get the rest of the floor. I’ve got some things to do in the kitchen but Stiles should be okay for a few minutes as long as he stays on the rug.”

 

“You hear that?” Peter asked Stiles. “You just stay right here so you don’t get into any trouble and call for Daddy if you need something.” He plopped Stiles down and went to the mystery chest against the wall to dig out a colouring book and some crayons. Stiles craned his head curiously to see what the pictures were of.

 

When Peter set the book down in front of him, Stiles felt himself blush from head to toe. The colouring book was pornographic. And not just pornographic, but revolved around the wolves, and their knots, their human littles, and any number of perverse acts. He paged through the childlike drawings, mesmerized.

 

Stiles looked up, but Peter was already gone and Derek had gone back to sweeping the other end of the room. Was he supposed to be this turned on by the images? Or were they simply meant to normalize these acts to him? He stared down at the page open in front of him. He’d seen Peter’s regular cock before, but what colour was a knot? The half shifted wolf in the picture was shoving it into the stretched mouth of the boy on his knees in front of him. God, that could be Stiles one day. He’d already felt the weight of Peter’s heavy cock on his tongue. What would it be like to have that fist sized flesh stretching his jaw?

 

Stiles selected the peach crayon. Until he had first-hand experience, a regular flesh tone would have to do, though he eyed the reds and purples with curiosity.

 

It took a surprisingly long amount of time to colour a picture to completion, and Stiles surprised himself with how long he was actually able to sit still when properly motivated. By the time he’d finished colouring the first picture, both Derek and Peter’s cleaning had wound down, and Peter had come back downstairs to chat while the laundry continued in his absence.

 

“He seems content,” Peter commented.

 

“Mm,” Derek agreed. “He’s been quiet. We should probably take an outdoors break soon, though. Let him move around.”

 

Stiles looked up as he put the final crayon down. “Did you finish your picture, darling?” Peter asked him, coming over to crouch down and have a look. “It’s lovely.” Stiles flushed with pleasure at the praise. As well as flushed with arousal. He was definitely turned on from staring at such lewd imagery for so long, but thankfully it was low level enough not to have affected his cock, still quiescent in its cage.

 

“Will you tell me about it?” Peter prompted him.

 

Stiles flushed darker, and pointed at the werewolf figure with the knot. His pacifier blessedly excused him from having to say too much. “Uncle Peter,” he said simply, though he knew Peter’s shift was more animalistic than that.

 

“Is that me?” Peter said, sounding quite pleased. “And is that Uncle Peter’s knot?” he asked, pointing to the obscene image.

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles agreed.

 

“And who’s that precious little boy?” Peter prompted him.

 

“Me,” Stiles answered shyly, squirming a bit.

 

“Of course,” Peter said knowingly. “Who else would it be? Do you think about Uncle Peter’s knot?”

 

“A little,” Stiles admitted, averting his gaze from Peter, but unable to look away from the picture he’d coloured.

 

“That’s perfectly alright, Stiles. You don’t have to be embarrassed. And come next full moon, Uncle Peter will definitely knot you. And if you’d like, you can suck on it like the little boy in the picture. Would you like that? Do you want to be filled up by my knot?”

 

Stiles shrugged a bit in answer. It was impossible to say. The idea of it turned him on and worried him. He was fascinated and a part of him definitely wanted it, while another part, a more cautious part, warned him to stay away.

 

“That’s alright. You don’t have to be ready for it right now. I’ll help you when it’s time,” Peter reassured him.

 

A bit of tension left Stiles’ shoulders at that. Peter had been able to prepare him for everything he’d asked for up until now. If Stiles was to be knotted in his future, he hoped that Peter would prepare him for that as well.

 

“I think we’re finished down here.” Derek interjected. “Do you want to go out and play on the swing with Daddy?”

 

Stiles’ eyes lit up with excitement. He adored the swing. “Uh-huh, Daddy,” he answered, and before he could even stand up Derek had scooped him up into his arms to head out.

 

As it turned out, Derek was just as good at pushing the swing as Peter had been, and Stiles had a wonderful time.  Colouring books and time on the swing more than made up for a small amount of boredom in the morning.

 

~~~

 

Stiles was in high spirits come lunch time, still feeling exhilarated from his time outside. When Derek finally hauled him back into the house to wash his hands, the kitchen was full of the aromas of warm food. Stiles eyed the hot sandwiches and his stomach gave an interested growl. Unfortunately, not only were the sandwiches already prepared, but so was his bottle, and it didn’t have the same alluring taste and smell.

 

“Come on. Don’t pout, Stiles,” Derek admonished him, and Stiles tried to stop whatever it was his face was doing. He was saved from having to think too hard on it though because soon he was tipped back into a familiar position and the bottle was pressing against his mouth for entry. There was no way to think about his pout when he had to instead begin to suck.

 

Derek sighed as Stiles continued to suck on his bottle. “He’s still fighting us a bit on this,” he told Peter. “I don’t want it to be unpleasant for him.”

 

“He’ll get used to it,” Peter told him. “He’s not even been here a week, Derek. Give him time. Don’t break now and start giving him soft foods and the like. You’ll never get him back on formula if you do that.”

 

“I know. I’ll just feel better when his response is more positive and automatic. He should _want_ his bottle, to feel good. Not just tolerate it.”

 

“If it’s really bothering you, we can skip a meal with him tomorrow. Put him down for his nap without lunch and he’ll be more eager for it come supper.”

 

Derek made a face. “That seems needlessly cruel.”

 

“You always find basic discipline to be cruel.” Peter rolled his eyes. “I’m not suggesting we starve him.”

 

“We’ll see,” Derek said, putting an end to the subject. “Let’s see how he does at supper tonight, and breakfast tomorrow morning.” Stiles made a mental note as he listened to try and be a bit more enthusiastic. Because if Peter said he’d deprive Stiles of a meal, he believed him, and it didn’t sound enjoyable at all. At least the milk was warm and reliable, and he felt his belly filling comfortably as his hunger was sated.

 

When Stiles had finished his bottle, Derek stood to take him upstairs.

 

"If you don't eat, your food's going to go cold," Peter warned him, already halfway through his own sandwich.

 

"I am aware," Derek answered dryly. "I'm not going to force this sleepy boy to sit in his chair until one of us is finished, though. It would really just be asking him to get cranky.”

 

Stiles withheld his own comment, clinging to Derek's neck as they made their way to the stairs. He was sleepy after his lunch, especially after the outdoor play. As soon as Derek had him in his crib, he sprawled onto his front to get comfortable while Derek closed the drapes. He was barely aware of it when Derek left the room.

 

~~~

 

"Wake up, darling," Peter urged him, and Stiles blinked sleepily up at the bright room. He'd been dead to the world for that nap. Now Peter was lifting him out of his crib, leaving him groggy and disoriented. He clung, and buried his face in Peter's neck.

 

"Aww. Still a bit sleepy are we?" Peter asked, carrying Stiles over to the rocking chair to hold him for a little while. Stiles slumped against him and sighed as he got comfortable against Peter's warm chest. Stiles felt heavy and safe, and was surprised but pleased that Peter was taking his time with him. It was a few minutes until Stiles became present enough to realize he had to pee, yet again, while Peter was holding him. The man was going to get a complex surely if Stiles kept it up. But there was nothing to do except let himself go.

 

Peter didn't even react immediately, though he had to have noticed. Instead he kept rocking the chair and rubbing Stiles' back soothingly, letting Stiles be the one to make the first move. Only when Stiles shifted a bit uncomfortably did Peter decide he was awake enough to be moved, then lifted him up to transfer him to his changing table.

 

"Are you ready to go have special time with Daddy?" Peter asked as he cleaned Stiles up. Stiles shivered. That was right, it was Derek's turn now, and Stiles was eager for it. Peter and Derek each had their own styles, and Stiles wondered what they would do with him today. What position would he find himself in? How good would it feel? Because it always felt good.

 

Peter eased one slippery digit into Stiles' little hole and Stiles grunted softly at the penetration. It was always good, and seemed to happen more easily every time. But Peter only teased him with a brief taste of what was to come, for soon his probing digit eased back out. "Let's leave this for Daddy this time, shall we? You know how much he likes to finger your tight little hole."

 

Stiles only panted a bit, already getting worked up. He was already starting to flush pink in splotches all over his body, though his cock for now remained flaccid in its cage. He wanted more, and Peter's brief penetration wasn't nearly enough. So he was totally on board when Peter stripped off the rest of his clothing, and lifted him up to take him downstairs..

 

When they arrived in the living room, Derek was nude and stroking himself, one foot casually placed on the couch as he waited. "I was wondering what was taking you two so long," he said with a smile.

 

"We have a sleepy boy on our hands," Peter told him. "I haven't had time to stretch his little hole yet. I thought maybe you'd like to do the honours."

 

"Of course I would." Derek's smile only grew wider. “ And if he’s such a sleepy boy, let’s let him relax.” Derek sprawled out the length of the couch on his side, with his back against the back rest, and Peter helped to carefully arrange Stiles beside him as the little spoon. Then Peter took one of the empty comfy chairs to watch for the duration.

 

It was nice, Stiles thought, as he snuggled up against his daddy, skin to skin. Derek caressed him at first, helping him to relax as his hands roamed over arms and stomach. The living room was somewhat dim, and it was easy for Stiles to close his eyes and drift again so soon after his nap. Gently, Derek pulled Stiles’ top leg up to his stomach, bent at the knee. Stiles could hear the pop of the cap on the bottle of lube, and soon felt Derek’s probing fingers exploring his now exposed crack.

 

He sighed at the initial penetration. Peter had already been there, and so there was nothing but a smooth, effortless glide.  Derek was gentle with him as always as he prepared the way, carefully stretching Stiles with one finger, then two, while avoiding his prostate. He took his time, trying to make the sensations relaxing, without working Stiles up too much, though Stiles was still definitely aroused.

 

Against his lower back, Stiles could feel Derek’s considerable length rocking against him. He rocked back onto Derek’s hand, wanting to be stretched further, wanting him inside.

 

“Are you ready, baby?” Derek asked.

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles agreed, feeling heavy and drugged in his sleepy state. He felt Derek slick his cock with lube, and then the nudge at his hole with the thick, blunt head of his cock. It always took Stiles’ breath away a little at the initial penetration, as he struggled to stretch and was filled to capacity. Neither of his guardians let him shy away from the depth of penetration either. Even on his side, Derek managed to slide deep, pulling Stiles top leg upward so that he could press in that extra inch.

 

When Derek was fully sheathed inside of him, Stiles was panting softly and clutching at the couch cushions. “Shh,” Derek soothed him, rubbing his leg, his arms, his side until he settled back down and relaxed. In its cage, Stiles’ cock was twitching back to life, and he tried to focus on remaining pliant in hopes that it didn’t stir too much.

 

Today, Derek moved with infinite patience, thrusting so slowly that Stiles almost found it soothing. He was surprised how good it felt just to feel the stretch, and to feel Derek’s cock stir so deep within his guts even when there was no urgency to the motion. Any tease against his prostate was the barest friction as the cock glided past, but Derek was careful not to hit it head on.

 

“How do you feel?” Derek asked him quietly.

 

Stiles felt like he was in a daze. “Good,” he answered, though it came out a mumbled  _guh_ .

 

It seemed to go on ages. Stiles kept waiting for the moment when Derek would speed up to finish off, but it never came. Instead, Derek was in for the long haul on this one. When he finally came it was with a low grunt and then stillness. Stiles took a moment to even realize what was happening as Derek’s cock twitched subtly inside him as he ejaculated.

 

Stiles was quivering slightly with his own continual low buzz of arousal, though his body felt heavy still, sinking into the sofa. And his cock, for once, was still quiescent, even if his balls ached sweetly for some sort of relief.

 

Stiles’ flaccid cock was not missed by either Derek or Peter. “What a good boy you are,” Derek praised him, kissing him softly on the back of his neck as his hand came down to cup gently between his legs, simply holding him there. “Doesn’t that feel better when you’re able to stay calm?”

 

“I told you he’d get the hang of it,” Peter told him as he came closer to the couch. He wedged one knee in where there was room, and awkwardly leant over and helped to lift Stiles’ head to his erection as he pulled the pacifier away. Stiles barely got his mouth around the head when Peter jacked himself over the edge, flooding Stiles’ mouth with his seed. Stiles swallowed convulsively as Peter held him in place, then licked sweetly until Peter lowered him and pulled away. Peter thumbed Stiles’ bottom lip affectionately. “Good boy,” he praised, as Stiles mouthed at his thumb, still instinctively seeking something to suckle.

 

“He’s such a sweetheart,” Derek said as he watched Stiles suck, his hand still gently cupping Stiles’ caged cock, fingers stroking feather-light touches over his balls.

 

Stiles let out a harsh pant and his ass clenched once around Derek’s softening cock. He squirmed to try and get more friction, but Derek wasn’t having it, always keeping his touch to Stiles’ crotch light.

 

“Daddy,” he called, pulling away from Peter’s thumb.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Please,” he gasped out, wanting some release. “Want more.”

 

“Want more what, baby?”

 

“Wanna cum,” Stiles said simply, wondering if they’d ever let him. What if he asked nicely? What if he was a good boy? What if he begged? His cock might have finally remained soft throughout but his balls still ached and his skin still sizzled with pent up arousal.

 

“And how is it you think you want to cum?” Derek prompted him, humouring him for the moment.

 

Was Derek serious? Stiles licked his lips anxiously. “Let me out of the cage,” he suggested. “Please?”

 

Derek tisked. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. Baby boys should have nice, soft little penises. Look at how little it is,” Derek told him, pulling his hand back as if to show him. He pulled Stiles’ leg further to the side so that he could get a good look down at himself. Derek held his palm under the small weight of it, and it did look impossibly small. Stiles had never really had any particular insecurity about his size, but now looking at it through that lens, he wasn’t sure.

 

“Oh now don’t frown,” Derek said encouragingly. “I think it’s a lovely little cock. Don’t you think so, Peter?”

 

“I think it’s perfect,” Peter agreed, his voice and eyes both full of warmth. Stiles looked up now to see Peter had moved back into his chair, his clothes righted. And he could see that Peter was full of sincerity. “And I love it when you’re so soft, when it’s just resting so gently between your legs. Our perfect little boy.”

 

“So you see why we don’t want a big, nasty erection,” Derek explained.

 

“I guess,” Stiles answered uncertainly.

 

“But you know what little boys definitely need?” Derek prompted him.

 

“W-what?”

 

“Something in their needy little hole,” Derek answered, giving a slight thrust with his half hard cock for emphasis. Stiles gasped slightly in response. “Doesn’t that feel good?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles answered. It was hard to even properly think when his focus was on the feelings in his hole. “Can... can I come that way?” he asked, though a part of his brain wondered what he was saying. He remembered what it had felt like when Doctor Deaton had milked him, and it hadn’t felt so good. He’d still felt needy and unfulfilled. But now, with the alternative? And now that he liked it so much when either Derek or Peter put anything in his ass? He was willing to give it another shot.

 

“Hmm,” Derek acted as if he were considering it. “You know what I think?”

 

“What?”

 

“I think that if you have a really special time while you’re playing with Uncle Peter or Daddy, and if you have a lot of cum built up in these little balls that needs to come out, it will come out all on its own. And that’s perfectly fine. If you have a special wet during our play time, or when you sleep, that’s perfectly healthy for our little boy.”

 

“But what if I can’t?” Stiles’ voice quavered.

 

“I think you might be surprised,” Derek told him. “Let’s just give your body a chance to adjust and see. And if you haven’t had a special wet in a few weeks and that stuff in there needs to come out, your Uncle Peter will help you. Promise,” Derek assured him.

 

S tiles thought about that, turning over the possibilities in his mind. His thumb migrated up to his mouth and he began to suck on it to soothe himself, and slowly some of the tension began to leave his body. He wondered if what Derek had said was true. Would he be able to have an orgasm of sorts while being fucked by them? With his cock still flaccid? And how would that feel?

 

“Come on. Let’s get cleaned up.” Derek urged him out of his musings, and gently pulled out of Stiles as he sat up. Stiles he arranged on his back as usual as Peter handed him the wipes. A quick but thorough cleaning, some lotion, and then the diaper, followed finally by his clothes. Then Derek efficiently cleaned up himself.

 

“Why don’t you come upstairs with me next, bunny?” Peter suggested. “The laundry finished running while you were asleep, and I’ll bet you’d be marvellous at helping me to match socks, and helping me put back the sheets.”

 

“Okay,” Stiles agreed with a small smile. That did actually sound fun, as he remembered how the morning had started with Peter and the sheets. Perhaps if he really turned on the charm, he could even convince Peter to make a fort with him.

 

Peter scooped him up and headed up the stairs, and soon enough Stiles was awash in socks on top of Peter’s unmade bed, arousal forgotten after all. It just didn’t seem to matter much when there were so many other fun things to do, and his guardians always worked so hard to keep him entertained.

 

~~~

 

Stiles helped Peter sort the socks as he'd been asked, while Peter did the bulk of the work. Then he "helped" in putting the sheets back on the bed by being strategically in the way. He even managed to get Peter under a sheet with him for a while in a sort of makeshift fort. It was nice.

 

And after they had finally finished with the laundry and went downstairs again, Derek had finished with whatever it was he'd been up to as well. Peter suggested they all sit down for story time for a while on the couch, which Stiles was quickly coming to love.

 

Stiles snuggled in between his two guardians as first Peter read to him the book about wolves and their littles which was becoming a favourite. Then he took out some ancient book of erotica with detailed text and faded illustrations, and he spent a good amount of time showing Stiles a vast array of chastity devices similar to his own. Peter read the text on how they worked and what situations they were good for, as well as the many benefits one could expect from having their libido controlled. By the end of it, Stiles was no longer feeling worried about his own cock cage at all. Especially since his arousal had had a chance to fade, he really didn't mind one way or another.

 

Partway through the chastity lesson, Derek had had to leave cuddles and story time to begin supper, and once again the home filled with delicious smells. Stiles' stomach rumbled, though he remembered Peter's earlier suggestion to Derek. If Stiles couldn't get on board with the formula soon, he might very well have to miss a meal. And that reminded him as well of his promise to himself the night before. He wasn't going to worry about the laxative today, he reminded himself. He wasn't even going to ask whether it was there, or what Peter thought he needed. Peter would take care of whatever decision was best for him, and Stiles would try to accept the process.

 

Derek came out part way through cooking to deliver the expected bottle, then headed back into the kitchen. "What do you say, bunny?" Peter asked Stiles. "Are you ready for some supper?"

 

"Uh-huh," Stiles confirmed, though Peter gave him an appraising look, apparently waiting for Stiles to complain or ask questions. But Stiles just waited expectantly until Peter took away his pacifier and arranged Stiles in his lap as usual. Stiles snuggled in comfortably, going pliant in Peter's arms and allowing his head to be tilted back, mouth open and waiting to receive his bottle.

 

As soon as he closed his lips, Stiles began to diligently suck. He tried not to think about what was happening in the kitchen, or what might happen to him later. The milk was warm. His belly was growing full. Peter's body holding him felt trustworthy and solid. And Stiles realized that he really did feel cared for. Stiles let his eyes drift nearly shut as Peter fed him, focusing on how good it felt to be taken care of, and how he could depend on this simple routine.

 

When Stiles opened his eyes to look up at Peter, the man looked back at him with a genuinely adoring expression. Stiles' heart clenched to be on the receiving end of such a look, and from such a stern man. "You're really trying to be a good boy for me tonight, aren't you?" Peter asked quietly. But Stiles didn't have to answer. He only had to continue to suck.

 

Stiles felt that familiar demand in his lower belly as the bottle came to a finish. He blushed and closed his eyes as Peter gave him his pacifier back, and he burrowed his face against Peter's chest. He didn't really want to be here, to do this, but he was trying to hard not to make it into a big deal. Peter's hand came to his back and began a slow, steady rub to relax him, and Stiles could admit that it did help. However mortifying it was to have Peter witness this, it was also a great comfort to have him there.

 

Peter's lap was familiar, and Stiles decided to start small. For in addition to the demand to release his bowels, he also had a full bladder. That he could do. Stiles cuddled against the warm body and let himself wet. The feeling was familiar now, more of warmth than of damp as his body acclimated to the sensation. A subtle weight and swell of the diaper between his legs.

 

And as Stiles was able to actually relax, his breathing soft and even, he felt something fundamentally shift inside of him. It wasn't physiological, and yet it was as if something had finally clicked into place. He felt suddenly that he really could go, just as he always could, and he couldn't imagine why his body had seized up before. Stiles took a steady breath, and simply pushed.

 

Just like that. It wasn't really that big of a deal, though it was still unpleasant. But it felt as relieving as it always had, and somehow the laxative didn't feel quite so demanding and out of his control.

 

"There you are.  That wasn’t bad at all today, was it sweetheart?” Peter asked in a soothing voice. Perhaps it hadn’t been so bad, but Stiles was still feeling shy, so he clenched his fists against Peter’s shirt and cuddled closer. Just as well. He wasn’t required to respond and Peter started them up the stairs to change him.

 

B y the time Stiles had been thoroughly cleaned, lotioned, and re-diapered, he was feeling exhausted. Though his evening had gone well this time, relatively speaking, emotionally it had still managed to take a lot out of him. So he was subdued when Peter carried him back downstairs. Peter seemed to catch his mood too, because he brought along Stiles’ bunny.

 

Stiles sat quietly in his high chair while Derek and Peter ate. Derek enthused over how well Stiles had done, once Peter told him. Though Stiles did give a shy smile, he mostly cuddled his bunny and sipped from his sippy cup, waiting patiently for bath time to come.

 

Derek certainly noticed the mood. “What do you say if after bath time, Daddy reads you a special bedtime story since you did such a good job?” Derek suggested, garnering Stiles’ attention.

 

“Okay,” he agreed quietly, starting to perk up just a bit.

 

Bath time was the usual affair, and relatively short since Stiles hadn’t gotten into anything too dirty. He actually made an attempt to play with his duck in spite of the short span of time, and he tolerated Derek’s soapy, probing finger with minimal grumbling. By the time he was cozy in his night time clothes, teeth brushed and ready for bed, Derek took him over to the rocking chair rather than his bed and Stiles curled against him. He’d expected by now that Derek might very well read to him something weird or pornographic, working him up right before bed. But he was surprised and delighted to find it was a simple copy of _Goodnight Moon_ , a childhood classic. By the time Derek finished with the book, Stiles and his bunny were definitely ready for bed.

 

~~~

 

Stiles curled around his bunny and snuffled in his sleep, blinking awake slightly.  It was dark, and he had to pee. He hardly thought about it as he simply released his bladder, and fell immediately back to sleep.

 


	8. Day 15, Tuesday

Stiles blinked awake before anyone came to get him. He could tell he was a little damp, but it wasn’t a major concern. Instead, he took a moment to acclimate himself for the day, slowly coming awa ke. Yesterday was a Monday, he remembered, because they’d cleaned, and the day before, a Sunday, meant pancakes. He wondered for a moment what Tuesday might hold. It was strange to think of the passage of time in this seemingly timeless place. It would be easy to lose himself in the days.

 

Tuesday, he thought after a moment, had another significance. He’d come to the agency on a Monday, having not wanted to go into work Monday evening. That meant that Tuesday had been the day he’d really begun. Which meant he’d really only been in this world for two weeks. Yet his old life often felt like some distant memory. Could it really only have been that long? His college break between fall and spring semesters had been longer than that.

 

"Are you already up, pup?" Derek asked as he came into the darkened doorway. Stiles could barely make him out through the early morning gloom, but apparently Derek could see or hear him just fine.

 

"Uh-huh," Stiles answered, blinking as Derek turned on the light.

 

"Did you wake up again last night?" Derek asked, in reference to Stiles' wet diaper.

 

Stiles blinked again, his brain feeling slow and foggy. "Don't remember," he said with a slight frown. He'd been here less than a week. He must have woken up and forgotten, surely. There was no way his subconscious would give up so easily and allow him to wet in his sleep.

 

"That's fine," Derek dismissed easily, not wanting Stiles to worry himself about it. "Let's get you cleaned up and ready for the day, then we can get you some breakfast."

 

Breakfast did sound good for half a second, before Stiles caught himself. He couldn't decide then whether he genuinely was starting to like the bottle or not, but the pause did give him time to remember Peter's earlier discussion with Derek. Stiles had done his best at supper time last night, and he vowed to do well at breakfast. He did not want to miss out on lunch.

 

Stiles sighed contentedly as Derek lotioned him, now that he was clean. Derek was always handsy in the morning, and Stiles was always in the mood. His balls felt incredible when Derek did that to them, gently stretching and pulling at them with his lubed hands, flesh gliding and pressing easily over flesh. Stiles’ hole twitched enviously before Derek even got to it, already anticipating penetration. He was not disappointed as he felt Derek's slippery finger ease in.

 

"You like it when Daddy fingers your hole, don't you sweetheart?" Derek asked.

 

"Ngh," Stiles answered somewhat incoherently as he lost himself in the pleasure of it. But as always, the attention was short-lived, as Derek didn't want to really get him too worked up. It was time then for a fresh, dry diaper, which always felt amazing first thing in the morning, and a clean change of clothes. A quick trip to the bathroom to brush teeth, and Stiles was feeling considerably more awake.

 

When they got to the kitchen, Peter had already set out Stiles’ warm bottle and was halfway through a bowl of cold cereal himself. Stiles eyed him a bit, wondering whether he and Derek were running behind of if Peter was in some sort of rush.

 

Derek, however, simply settled himself and Stiles down in Derek’s usual seat and tipped Stiles back to feed him his bottle. Stiles sighed contentedly as he snuggled into Derek’s warmth and sucked. It was nice to start the morning so quietly like this. It wasn’t even that difficult to drink the formula today as he was still feeling comfortably fuzzy from sleep.

 

“He seems to have changed his tune about the formula,” Peter commented as he observed.

 

“Of course. You’re Daddy’s good boy, aren’t you, Stiles?”

 

Stiles glowed with warmth from the praise, and simply continued to suck as his eyes smiled up at Derek.

 

“Well. I suppose that should make for a more pleasant lunch,” Peter said simply. “I suppose I’ll see you then.” He stood and put his bowl in the sink, and Stiles struggled to crane his neck and see after him, bottle momentarily forgotten. He gave a soft whine of displeasure as Derek tried to feed him, and Derek saw where his attention was.

 

“Uncle Peter has to do some work in the office, sweetheart,” Derek explained to him. “Don’t worry, you’ll still have time with Daddy all day.”

 

Stiles slowly started suckling at the bottle again, turning the information over in his mind. He supposed it was fine -- Peter wasn’t even really leaving the house. But he liked the continual attention he got from both of them, and he didn’t want for Peter to go away all day, even if he did have Derek to play with.

 

When he’d finished eating, Derek gave him his Adderall. It became clear to Stiles only when Derek started getting out a bowl that he hadn’t had his breakfast yet. But instead of forcing him to stay in his high chair, Derek made him an offer. “If I settle you on the rug in the living room, can I trust you to stay put and play nicely with your colouring book?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles answered as he chewed at the mouth of his sippy cup. Derek gently took the cup from him and replaced it with his pacifier, then scooped him up.

 

“Alright,” Derek agreed, doing just that. He pulled out Stiles’ colouring book and crayons and settled him on the living room floor, with a hasty reminder to “be good”, before he went back out to the kitchen to have his own breakfast and do the cleaning up.

 

Stiles was once again faced with the colouring book of pornography. He flipped through it with a strong sense of curiosity, and tried to choose something to colour in. One picture in particular caught his eye. In this one, the “baby” boy was being lowered by his guardian onto a rocking horse with a massive dildo attached to the saddle, the drawing showing it halfway impaled in the little’s ass. Did the werewolves make these sorts of toys for their littles? Given what Stiles had seen of the community so far, including this book, he wouldn’t put it past them. He wondered whether Derek and Peter would ever use something like that on him. He felt a rush of heat at the thought of it. Did he really want them to? Parts of his anatomy definitely said yes.

 

“What are you colouring there?” Derek asked some time later. Stiles was still on the rug, and had been in his own world for quite some time. The picture was only halfway done. Stiles glanced up, then leaned to the side to show him.

 

“Can you tell me about it?” Derek prompted, in the same manner that Peter had before. “Who’s that?” Derek pointed to the little boy in the picture, when it was clear Stiles wasn’t sure what he should say.

 

“Me,” Stiles answered with a fierce blush. And honestly, he hadn’t been thinking about the picture as some random other boy. He’d been imagining himself.

 

“Hmm. And who is this?” Derek asked, pointing to the guardian lowering the little boy down.

 

“Daddy,” Stiles answered shyly. It could have been Derek or Peter, really, but since Derek was here, why not let it be Derek? Stiles imagined what it would be like if Derek gently lowered Stiles down onto something like that. Peter would probably push him slightly, but Derek would do it with infinite care and gentleness, he was sure.

 

“Really?” Derek smiled. “That’s very nice of you. Is this sort of toy something you think you’d like to play with?”

 

“Maybe,” Stiles answered a bit shyly, hesitant to commit to such a desire.

 

“That’s because you always want something in that greedy hole,” Derek told him with a fondness in his tone. “But I’m not so sure about this particular toy. This might be better for an older little boy who doesn’t rely on his diaper,” Derek explained.

 

Stiles felt himself blushing at the implications yet again. He didn’t exactly  _rely_ on his diapers, not yet, though he knew Derek and Peter would prefer that he did. And Derek and Peter trusted him well enough not to soil himself during their play time in the afternoon. But  Stiles supposed  that in order to hold to the illusion of needing the diaper, Derek would have to insist on avoiding such a toy as the rocking horse in the picture,  lest Stiles  theoretically piss himself in the process.

 

“Besides,” Derek reasoned, “you hardly need any more distractions. Imagine if Daddy let you play with your hole all the times you wanted to. You’d never get anything else done.”

 

Now Stiles was blushing furiously indeed, and he was more than a little turned on. Lately, that statement was too close to the truth. The more often one of them breached his hole, the more often he wanted it to be done. Even now with all the talk of it and the picture staring him in the face, his hole clenched slightly, feeling the ghost of Derek’s slippery finger that morning.

 

Derek ran his fingers over Stiles' hair fondly. "Finish up with your colouring," he instructed, for now leaving the teasing go. "After you're done, we can go for a walk outside. Then maybe you can help me make some lunch for Uncle Peter."

 

That perked up Stiles' interest. It was rare that he was allowed to meaningfully help. Did Derek mean that Stiles would sit in his high chair and do nothing, or would he really be involved? Stiles turned his attention back to his crayons, and tried not to let his mind dwell too much on what was going on in the drawing as he finished up. The last thing he needed was to be painfully aware of his full balls.

 

True to his word, once the colouring was complete Derek took Stiles outside for some time wandering around the property. Time seemed to stretch for Stiles in a way it really hadn't since he'd actually been a kid. How long had they been out there? What had he spent all that time doing? It didn't matter. He was just happy to stumble along through his day without much regard as to what was to come.

 

Finally, it was time to prepare lunch, as Derek had promised. Derek and Peter's lunches today turned out to be pretty simple -- only a grilled cheese. And Stiles' contribution was to be allowed to butter the bread. It was such simple work that Stiles felt slightly ridiculous. Derek had even seemed wary of handing him a butter knife, or letting him near something as messy as butter. But at the same time, Stiles enjoyed their continuing dynamic, and he enjoyed the opportunity to "help", even if the work was simple and he was confined to his high chair.

 

By the time all of the supplies were assembled, Derek had finished heating Stiles' formula, and the cooking of sandwiches was put on hold while it was Stiles' turn to eat. He looked longingly over toward the sandwich supplies, but reminded himself to be grateful that he had lunch at all. Why it was so difficult to let go of real food, Stiles wasn't sure. He'd never considered it to be a particularly important part of his life. But still some small attachment lingered. He supposed that like his evening bowel movement, the formula thing would just take continued work.

 

When Stiles had finished, Derek set him up with a sippy cup of water while he worked on quickly cooking the food. Then, with a plate of sandwiches in one hand, he scooped up Stiles with the other and headed up the stairs, much to Stiles' delight. He hadn't seen Peter all day, and it seemed like he’d be able to see him now. It was only confirmed by Derek's next words. "Let's go see if Uncle Peter is getting hungry," he suggested.

 

Stiles wondered how often they did this, how often Peter and Derek functioned more like spouses than an uncle with an adult nephew in the same house. How often did Peter get lost in his work and have food delivered by Derek? Or had it only really started once Stiles was introduced into the picture? How had these two functioned before? For now, so much of their lives seemed to revolve around him.

 

Derek knocked on the office door before letting himself in, the knock only a courtesy. Peter looked up from his laptop and blinked as he focused. Whatever he'd been working on, Stiles thought he looked distracted and a bit tired. He wondered what it was that Peter might do for a living, but then he supposed there was no real way for him to ask.

 

"Hungry?" Derek offered, settling the plate down on a spare patch of cluttered desk. He cleared off the old wooden extra chair of papers and took a seat, Stiles balanced on his lap, then took his own sandwich and started to eat.

 

"Thank you," Peter said with a satisfied sigh as he reached toward the food. "I guess you've already eaten?" he asked Stiles who was still clutching his sippy cup.

 

"Uh-huh," he answered, wanting to say more. And really, why not? Peter hadn't seen him all day and he didn't currently have his pacifier preventing him. "And I helped Daddy make you a sandwich and before that we went outside and before that Daddy let me colour a picture."

 

"Really?" Peter asked, eyebrows rising as if he were impressed. "All of that? And you say you helped make this sandwich?"

 

"Uh-huh," Stiles answered.

 

"Stiles did the butter," Derek explained.

 

"How very industrious of you. And before that you were outside?" he continued politely, humouring Stiles in the simplistic conversation. But Stiles could see in Peter's eyes that he wasn't only humouring him -- his interest seemed genuine.

 

"Yeah." Stiles shrugged. "We walked around," he answered vaguely, because really what more was there to say? Apparently much more, because Derek filled Peter in on the details. Stiles had seen the birds nest close to the front yard. Derek had smelled evidence of a skunk lurking about. They really needed to do something about the gutters before too long. Stiles looked around the office quietly while Derek nattered on.

 

There were piles upon piles of papers. More books that weren’t with the others downstairs. What looked to be a guitar case buried in the half opened closet. Stiles wondered which one of them played. Derek’s voice cut in on Stiles’ thoughts before he’d realized his eyelids were starting to droop.

 

“Looks like someone is getting pretty sleepy,” he commented. “I’ll just go settle him down.”

 

Peter might have said something in reply, but if he did, Stiles missed it as Derek scooped him into his arms and carried him away. His routine was becoming so ingrained that lunch and supper both were beginning to have a soporific effect. Moments after Derek had him settled into his quiet, soft bed, he was out.

 

~~~

 

When Stiles woke up, the first thing he did was empty his bladder. The second thing he did was realize that it was after nap time, and that he'd woken up before Derek had come to get him for a change. Perhaps his body was adapting to the exact amount of sleep allotted to him for a nap, he speculated.

 

He took a moment then, lying in his damp diaper, to think. Yesterday he'd been with Derek, which meant that today he'd be with Peter. And yesterday he'd managed not to have an attempted erection at all, which had been much nicer on his caged cock but still had left him terribly aroused. And he'd all but gotten his answer when he'd asked for more then; his guardians didn't intend to let him cum.

 

"Are you up already?" Derek asked when he came into the room a moment later. "You seemed so tired before that I thought for sure I'd have to wake you," he explained as he opened the drapes. Derek came to the crib and lowered the bars on the side to lift Stiles out. Stiles may have already been awake for a few minutes, but he was actually still rather sleepy, and as always after a nap he sort of wanted to cling. He did just that as Derek transferred him from bed to changing table.

 

Derek cleaned Stiles with his usual efficiency, then spread just a bit of lotion. Stiles waited for Derek to really begin to play, to a least breach him briefly with a slippery finger, but no such play came. Instead, apparently they would wait until going downstairs for all of it today, as Derek simply relieved Stiles entirely of his onesie and scooped him up to take him down to Peter.

 

"Let me have him," Peter demanded, hands held out to hold him as soon as they made their entrance. Derek rolled his eyes but handed Stiles over, and Stiles snuggled into Peter's naked body instead. He noted with some interest that Peter wasn't yet fully hard. And, confusingly, the first thing that Peter wanted to do was bury his nose against Stiles' neck and smell him.

 

"He smells like pack," Derek told him, not even having to lean in and get a good smell.

 

"Almost," Peter said, seeming almost in a trance as he soaked the scent in, letting Stiles' new pack smell soothe him.

 

"You should work on stretching him," Derek urged him. "The full will be here soon."

 

Peter made a non-committal sound as he rubbed his stubble against Stiles' neck, causing goosebumps to break out across his skin. Stiles took advantage of the cuddling position and snugged himself tighter, feeling how Peter's now erect cock bumped against his cage. He imagined how much better it would feel if his cock were free.

 

"You know you can fuck him after you stretch him," Derek pointed out.

 

"We'll start stretching him tomorrow," Peter dismissed. "Today I want to make our boy feel extra good. How does that sound, sweetheart?" he asked Stiles.

 

Feeling extra good somehow sounded like a great idea to him, though he was curious about the stretching as well. He'd seen illustrations of a knot, but hadn't yet seen one in the flesh, and he was slightly daunted by the idea of it. "Good," he muttered in response to Peter's question, noting that his pacifier hadn't yet been put back in place. His thumb gravitated up to his mouth in an instinct to calm himself down, as he was already feeling excited.

 

"Good boy," Peter praised him, then lifted him to rearrange Stiles on the couch. "Crouch down here, darling. You can rest your arms against the arm rest if you need to," he explained as he got Stiles arrange on his elbows and knees, legs spread as much as the depth of the couch would allow. Stiles canted his hips up when nudged to do so, his back arching slightly as his head and shoulders shifted down. He felt on display, but it wasn't a bad thing considering he really just wanted Peter to play with his hole.

 

He wasn't disappointed. Moments after Peter was satisfied with Stiles' position, he wasted no time in inching a lubed finger inside of him, beginning to prepare him as usual. Stiles sighed into the sensation. With his mind blissfully blank, it was easy to constrain his vocabulary to whimpers and moans.

 

Peter eased a second finger in, stretching Stiles to accommodate him, then crooked his fingers just so. Stiles grunted at the direct press to his prostate, and felt his cock give an interested twitch. After two weeks in the cage though, Stiles was hopeful it would behave itself. Still, as Peter worked to stretch him he made no effort to avoid it -- in fact, he made every effort to stimulate him, and Stiles sank deeper and deeper into lust. He wondered whether Peter was trying to milk him after all. A steady stream of pre-cum was dripping from his caged cock now.

 

Finally satisfied with Stiles once he'd become an incoherent puddle before him, Peter pulled his fingers free and lubed his cock. With one steady push, he pressed himself in to the hilt, and Stiles spasmed around him as he was forced to accommodate the length.

 

Stiles realized quickly that in this position more than any previous one he'd been in, Peter had complete control over the experience. The pace, the depth, the aim all seemed to be calibrated to completely overwhelm him with sensation. And without the usual stopper of his pacifier, his moans sounded loud and obscene to his ears. Yet he couldn't stop. Even with the cage on, his cock feeble and small, hardly attempting to erect at all. He felt incredible. On edge of coming, he was surprised to note. And it felt nothing like the bland experience of being milked.

 

Stiles let out a choked sob of pleasure. His body had long since given up being able to support itself, and he slumped against the arm of the sofa, his hips only raised because Peter held him there at the optimal angle. Stiles trembled as his breathing became erratic, and he swore he could feel something building, building inside of him.

 

"That's it, darling," Peter urged him, completely breathless himself as he pistoned in and out of the receptive body before him. "Let it happen. Just let go. I've got you."

 

Peter did have him, and Stiles felt himself fill with a sort of warm glow when he acknowledged it. Whether the words were the catalyst, or whether Peter had tipped his hips just right, Stiles didn't know, but suddenly he felt his limp cock dribbling wetly onto the sofa below. He let out a tremendous groan as he trembled through it, his ass clenching spasmodically on Peter's driving cock.

 

Moments later, Peter thrust home one final time and let himself enjoy the orgasm he'd staved off. Stiles felt the cock twitch and pulse inside of him in a familiar way as he slowly regained his own senses, hardly believing that he'd had some sort of orgasm from anal stimulation alone, and with his cock limp even. He hadn't known this sort of thing was possible, though Peter and Derek had been implying that it was. To him, it felt different both from a regular orgasm and from the milking he'd had before. Some sort of hybrid of the two -- not as satisfying as the former, but certainly not unsatisfying like the latter. Just different.

 

"That's my sweet, perfect boy," Peter praised him, rubbing his hands over Stiles' trembling flesh -- arms, hips, ass, and back, as Stiles slowly calmed down.

 

"Come on, sweetheart," Derek urged him from somewhere above his head. "Up," he ordered gently, then cradled Stiles' head enough to get him to straighten out onto his arms and legs a bit more, to lift his head up instead of slumping forward. Stiles was still nearly boneless from orgasm, Peter still buried in his ass, but he did his best. Before him now over the arm of the sofa was Derek's own firm erection, in definite need of attention.

 

Stiles opened his mouth receptively and thankfully that was all that was needed, as Derek thrust himself forward and controlled his motions. Stiles choked and gagged a bit as the cock breached his throat, triggering his gag reflex, but Derek was mindful not to push him too much, and at any rate there was nowhere for Stiles to move had he wanted to. In a few short moments, it was over, as Derek came with satisfaction into Stiles' willing throat, as Stiles swallowed around him reflexively.

 

When Derek pulled free at last, Stiles panted for breath, his cheeks rosy and his lips slightly swollen. Peter finally pulled himself free from the other end, a steadying hand on Stiles' hips so that he didn't collapse.

 

"You see?" Peter asked Derek. "I told you he could relieve himself with proper stimulation."

 

Derek's smile for Stiles was warm and almost proud. "You're such a good boy," he told Stiles, cupping a cheek. “Did you feel nice with Uncle Peter today?"

 

"Uh-huh," Stiles answered brainlessly. Orgasm had temporarily stolen his words from him, and no pacifier was necessary.

 

"Let's get you cleaned up," Peter suggested. He'd already wiped himself up with the wipes, and now pulled Stiles back against him on his back so that Derek could clean Stiles up as usual. Stiles let out a little hiss as Derek handled his spent cock and balls, now feeling even more sensitive than they usually would after an orgasm.

 

"Does that feel nice?" Derek prompted him, rubbing the lotion over his shrivelled little cock and his empty balls as Stiles whined and wriggled at the over stimulating touch.

 

"Shh," Peter shushed him, and produced a pacifier from seemingly nowhere to pop into his mouth. Stiles endured the slight teasing in silence, grateful that Derek didn't really linger long. Soon enough, he was clad in a fresh diaper and his onesie once again, feeling rather sleepy from their activities though he'd only just woken from his nap.

 

"Are you still feeling sleepy?" Derek asked with a warm voice as Stiles snuggled in against Peter. After an orgasm like that, he certainly was.

 

"Uh-huh."

 

"Let's do a quiet activity for a while," Peter suggested, combing his fingers through Stiles' hair. "Would you like me to read you a story, or would you rather colour a picture from your colouring book?"

 

Honestly, either activity had the potential to be fraught with sexual connotations that might just serve to work him up again, but one activity of the two did sound nicer. "Story," Stiles mumbled around his pacifier, loathe to get up or move an inch.

 

"How about Daddy reads to both of us this time?" Peter suggested, and Derek took the hint as he strode over to the bookshelf to make his selection.

 

It was a thick book but not an ancient tome, Stiles was surprised to see. He peered curiously at the title, and was startled by what he saw. _Heidi_. Derek had chosen a full length novel to start in on, and it wasn't anything Stiles would have expected at all. It was sort of old fashioned, and sort of girly as far as he was concerned. His own youth had been full of little boy classics like Treasure Island, and later the Harry Potter series of course. But a book about a little girl living in the Swiss Alps?

 

It was clear though that Derek loved it, and after a time Stiles began to love it too. He only remembered the movie in the vaguest sense, and the book read in Derek's measured tones quickly captured his imagination. It didn't hurt that Peter snuggled him close throughout.

 

For long minutes they read, and then suddenly, halfway through a sentence Stiles felt Peter tense behind him and cock his head, then Derek abruptly cut off a second later and did the same. Stiles looked at them, wondering what they could hear that he couldn’t.

 

“Deucalion,” Peter pronounced after a moment.

 

Derek wrinkled his nose. “I’ll get rid of him,” he offered, already standing and placing the book down on the table.

 

Peter heaved a sigh. “I told him Stiles wouldn’t be ready to meet any friends for at least two weeks. It hasn’t even been one.”

 

“I’ll --” Derek started to offer again, but was cut off by a polite knock at the door. Both wolves stood and Peter snugged Stiles to his hip as he held him, already moving toward the front door.

 

“Don’t bother,” Peter told Derek. “If he’s here now, he’ll just keep trying to meet him. We may as well get it over with.”

 

Peter opened the front door to reveal a man with with dark sunglasses and a cane. At first, he just looked classy and a bit intimidating, and then Stiles realized that that wasn’t just any cane; the man was blind. The man, Deucalion Peter had called him, smiled. Though it wasn’t a warm, inviting sort of smile. It was a bit chilling to behold. And though the man couldn’t see Stiles, Stiles still felt like the man’s gaze had landed on him.

 

“Peter,” Deucalion said silkily. “When were you planning to share this little treat with the rest of us? Everyone’s dying to see what you’ve picked up for your little pack.”

 

“Deuc, why are you here?” Peter asked somewhat wearily, irritation tingeing his voice.

 

“Why isn’t it obvious? I came bearing gifts,” Deuc offered, holding out a little pink stuffed teddy bear toward Stiles. Stiles buried his face against Peter’s neck nervously.

 

“He has good instincts,” Derek said smugly as he came up from behind.

 

Deucalion pushed his way into the house regardless and set the teddy down on the counter.

 

“I’m certain I told you not to come here until we had our boy settled. That means two weeks, Deuc. It’s not only common courtesy, it’s the average amount of time it takes to settle a little into their new routine. I know you know this,” Peter said with a hard edge to his voice.

 

“He certainly _smells_ settled in. And besides, I’m practically family.”

 

Derek snorted. “More like a mangy dog that just keeps coming back onto the property.”

 

“Really, Derek? Dog jokes?” Deucalion asked with disdain.

 

Peter sighed. “Put some tea on, Derek. If Deuc’s going to make himself at home regardless we can at least give him something else to occupy his hands and mouth.”

 

Deuc smirked predatorily. “You mean you won’t let me hold him?” he asked, and reached out to trail a finger along Stiles’ exposed leg. Stiles cringed back and Peter jerked away with an actual growl, his features shifting slightly at the challenge.

 

“Don’t. Touch,” Peter warned him darkly, and then set Stiles on the nearby kitchen counter so he could pull Stiles’ leg to his mouth and lick the scent away.

 

Deucalion snickered with amusement. “Really, Peter? He’s practically soaked in your scent already. Just what have you been doing to the poor thing?”

 

“Recently?” Peter asked innocently. “We were reading him _Heidi_.”

 

“And before that? Your house smells like a brothel.”

 

“You would know.”

 

Stiles watched the repartee uneasily. Was this Deucalion a family friend or not? Peter let the man in his house, into his intimate territory, but he wouldn’t let him touch Stiles. And Derek was making the man tea, yet they all seemed to be somewhat hostile with one another. He wondered whether it was a wolf thing. At any rate, he felt somewhat safer when Peter scooped him up again to hold him. He felt uneasy around the strange man, and he was certain that Deucalion could see all of him in some way, even without his eyes. Being exposed and vulnerable at the agency or with Peter and Derek was one thing, but he wasn’t sure how Deucalion would judge and react.

 

“You will let the others meet him, won’t you?” Deuc prompted once they were all settled with their tea.

 

“Eventually, yes.”

 

“And babysit? I know I’m eager to watch the boy. Ethan and Aiden want to meet him. Kali is pregnant with some pup from a wolf she met in Mexico, you know. She’s determined to raise it on her own and her maternal instincts are almost intolerable to be around. Being around your boy might do her some good.”

 

Derek scowled. “Stiles isn’t Kali’s pressure release valve. And I’m hardly going to leave him alone with  _you_ .”

 

“Perhaps after the full,” Peter told him levelly, and Derek glared daggers at him. Peter gave Derek his own sharp look, and the Beta quieted his response. Stiles wondered if that meant Derek and Peter would argue privately later, or if Peter would simply trump Derek in this. When the Alpha decided to be the Alpha, Derek always fell in line. And that worried Stiles a bit, as he continued to watch this Deucalion. Exactly why did he want to babysit? What would he do to him if they were left alone?

 

Perhaps picking up on his anxiety, Peter moved him into the living room. “Come on, pup. Let me get you some toys to play with while the rest of us talk.”

 

From the living room, Stiles could hear Derek and Deucalion still talking quietly but couldn’t make out any of what they said. And he could just make out their glances through the adjoining room, though from his place on the floor where Peter had set him, he couldn’t see much. He tried not to feel self conscious as Peter got out his soft blocks and set them out for him.

 

“Can you play nicely if I leave you here by yourself, sweetheart?” Peter asked him.

 

Stiles worried the pacifier with his teeth, uneasy at the idea of Peter leaving him alone and feeling strangely clingy. Though it shouldn’t matter. Peter and Derek would be guarding this Deucalion character the entire time. “Uh-huh,” he answered after some deliberation.

 

“That’s my good boy.” Peter ruffled his hair, and made his way back out to the kitchen.

 

When Stiles was fully in his little space and fully relaxed, he’d found that he could do something as trivial as push the coloured blocks around and enjoy himself. He discovered that when he was uneasy, it was a bit harder. His gaze kept wandering toward the kitchen, and the blocks didn’t capture his attention. Nor did he think even a colouring book would. He wanted to know what was going on out there and being said, or he wanted Deucalion to go away. They were supposed to be reading  _Heidi_ .

 

Time passed, and Stiles could hear the clinking of dishes in the kitchen. Then he caught a whiff of cooking food. It had to have been heading toward supper time, and Deucalion hadn’t left.

 

Peter came out to collect him a moment later, though Stiles’ heart raced when he realized Peter didn’t have the bottle with him. He had to eat in front of the stranger? But it was such an intimate act. And then there was using his diaper afterward.

 

As Peter stooped down to scoop him up, Stiles reached out his arms eagerly, still feeling riddled with anxiety. He positively clung to Peter as they went back out into the kitchen, though the atmosphere there was relaxed enough. Derek and Deucalion seemed more at ease and cordial. Supper was on the stove and the room was filled with the good smells of cooking. And there by Peter’s chair was Stiles’ familiar bottle, already prepared.

 

Stiles shut his eyes when Peter tipped him back in his arms and tried to shut out the fact that he had an audience, burrowing himself into the warmth and strength of Peter. This at least had become familiar to him, and he was surprised to find he actually did feel a bit soothed in the process of drinking the bottle. It was comforting, and made him feel a bit sleepy. The hand gently rubbing along his tummy also helped.

 

Around him, voices floated in, and he was vaguely aware of Deucalion commenting on how adorable he was. He tried again to shut it out. His heart raced for just a moment before Peter’s grounding presence overruled his anxiety and he relaxed again.

 

There was a laxative in the milk again, Stiles realized after a moment. He could feel the familiar urgency, though after his breakthrough the night before it was a bit more of a distant observation. He only wished that Peter would take him to the other room for this, though it seemed he would have no luck. As Peter cuddled him close and rubbed his back, waiting him out, Stiles decided to get it over with. It was embarrassing with an audience, but at least then Peter would leave the room with him and they could retreat upstairs. The table was just being set with food, so Derek and Deucalion would have plenty to distract them once Stiles left.

 

Stiles pushed. Even to himself, the smell of it was awful. He couldn’t imagine how the wolves could stand it.  Stiles was sure he blushed red from head to toe at the act, even though he was able to do it without too much outward fuss now. It weighed heavy in his diaper, soft and slippery between his cheeks, and there were subtle sounds associated with it even when it was mostly silent. Beneath him, he could feel the press of Peter’s body, squishing the mess further against him. How could Peter stand it? To add to the complete humiliation of the moment, Stiles released his bladder as well, resulting in a high volume mess that he desperately wanted cleaned up.

 

At least he didn’t have long to wait. He was vaguely aware of comments about what he’d done and good natured chuckling, but luckily as soon as the act was complete, Peter whisked him away upstairs to clean him up. Stiles was too relieved to be out of the dirty diaper to maintain his feelings of mortification for long. The stranger was downstairs, and he was safely back in his familiar bedroom. The mess was whisked away, and Peter took his time cleaning him and lotioning, telling him what a good boy he’d been.

 

“Are you ready to come back down and spend some time with Deuc?” Peter asked him as he finished taping up Stiles’ diaper, and popped his pacifier back into his mouth. Stiles must have looked dubious. “Now, now. Give him a chance, darling. He’s insufferably irritating, but he is admittedly a family friend. You’ll have to get used to meeting the others sooner or later. We’ll just have our supper as a family and you can sit in your chair. Once we’re all done eating Deucalion will go home and we can have a nice bath time with Daddy. How does that sound?”

 

That did sound appealing.  Bath time meant the two of them doting on him, and warm water and soft touches. It meant playing with his duck, and getting tucked into bed. It would soon be here, he knew. He just had to endure supper.

 

Peter carted him back downstairs, and strapped him into his chair, which unfortunately was between Derek and Deucalion. He wouldn’t have his Alpha’s direct protection any longer, and he eyed Deucalion beside him with some concern. Derek set a sippy cup of water out for him and snagged his pacifier away again to encourage him to drink, and it was an effective ploy. Without something to worry in his mouth, Stiles immediately picked up the cup and pressed it between his lips.

 

“He’s adorable,” Deucalion told them both, though Stiles wondered what would give him that impression if he couldn’t see a thing. Just how much did scent and hearing tell the man? “And you have him fully diaper trained after less than a week?” he asked wonderingly.

 

“He still needs a bit of help with his bowel movements,” Peter divulged matter-of-factly. “And as far as we know he’s not gone unconsciously yet. But yes, Stiles has been doing very well.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure he has,” Deucalion replied silkily. Stiles watched the man beside him while nervously sucking on his sippy cup. All of Deucalion’s senses seemed to be trained on him. Eyes or no, the man was surveying him and he felt like trapped prey in his seat.

 

Derek huffed a sound of frustration. “Peter his heart is racing and he reeks of anxiety. It’s too early for a visit.”

 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Derek, would you relax? His first visit was bound to be stressful --”

 

But Derek wasn’t listening, and Peter clearly wasn’t using his Alpha voice or mannerisms. Stiles was beginning to pick up on the subtle differences in their arguments. Now, Derek freed Stiles from his chair and hugged him close, and Peter’s own protests died out. “ I’m taking him upstairs for his bath,” Derek told them, abandoning his half eaten plate of food. Stiles felt a little bad about that, a bit guilty that he was upsetting the meal. But he also felt entirely relieved to be taken away from the source of his stress. And Derek was the nice parent. He clung to the man and took full advantage of his sympathies.

 

“I’d be delighted to help,” Deucalion teased lewdly.

 

“Derek, your food’s going to go cold.” Peter made his own token argument, his heart clearly not in it as Derek walked away.

 

“What do you say, sweetheart?” Derek asked him softly as they made their way up the stairs. “Would you like a nice bath?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles answered shyly. He hoped he hadn’t somehow messed up in his behaviour with this Deucalion, but he wasn’t sure yet what was expected of him.

 

“That’s my good boy.” Derek pressed a series of kisses onto Stiles’ face until Stiles breathed out some of his tension and gave him a smile. Derek brightened at the lighter mood as well, and set Stiles down on the bathroom rug while he started the bath, got out the soaps and Stiles’ duck.

 

D erek laid Stiles down on his back to easily pull off his clothes and diaper, and though Stiles was beginning to relax now that he was safe and back into his routine, his mind still whirled with thoughts about the stranger.

 

“What’s going on in there?” Derek asked, tapping his nose with a single finger. Stiles blinked up at him and bit his lower lip, wondering what he was allowed to ask.

 

“Is... is Deucalion dangerous?” he asked shyly.

 

Derek paused and gave the question some serious consideration before answering, and Stiles felt his stomach squirm at the obvious indication that he must be, if the answer wasn’t an immediate no.

 

“All wolves are dangerous,” Derek said at length, picking Stiles up to set him in the hot water. Stiles sighed at the feeling of it and reached immediately for his duck, for a happy distraction. “As for Deucalion, I don’t think he’s a danger to you. Deuc’s a family friend, and even if he weren’t neither I nor your Uncle Peter would let anything happen to you. Deucalion’s a rival Alpha, so sometimes he and Peter can get a bit prickly with one another, that’s all.”

 

Deucalion was an Alpha? Stiles mulled that over as well. He knew about werewolf packs to some degree, and knew that the Alpha was top tier. Peter was the Alpha of this household, and Derek was his Beta. But Deucalion was an Alpha as well? Did that make him more of a threat? Derek had referred to him as a family friend but Stiles remained dubious. Prickly didn’t begin to describe the tension in the house when Deucalion had first showed up.

 

Derek began washing him with a warm soapy cloth, pulling Stiles out of his thoughts once again. “You’ll meet lots of family friends,” Derek told him brightly. “But not until you’re more settled in here. Later on you’ll meet them. At get-togethers, or some of them might watch over you for a few hours. Maybe some of them could be persuaded to play. Would you like that?” Derek smiled encouragingly.

 

Stiles wasn’t sure if he’d like it or not, so he simply shrugged and pushed his ducky around as Derek continued to manoeuvre him to wash all those hard to reach places.

 

“That’s okay,” Derek assured him. “You’ve had a long day today, and you’ve been such a good boy for us today too.”

 

“Yes he has,” Peter said from the doorway.

 

“Deuc go home?” Derek asked him.

 

Peter nodded. “He’s gone. You can relax your mother hen routine.”

 

Derek scowled. “You were ready to take his hand off at the wrist when he touched Stiles. Don’t act like I’m crazy for feeling protective.”

 

“You’re not.” Peter sighed. “It’s understandable. He’s too new yet. We’ll all feel better after the full. Won’t you, darling?” Peter asked Stiles with a smile. “You’ll feel so nice in your tummy when your hole is stretched around my knot.”

 

Derek smiled as well and wriggled a soapy finger into Stiles’ bum, as Stiles squirmed at the intrusion.  His face heated as he thought of how intrusive that finger was now, and how much more it would feel like if it were Peter’s knot. He let out a low, lusty grunt and held onto the edge of the tub as Derek fingered him. But just as his cock started to take interest in the proceedings, Derek pulled away.

 

“Come on. Let’s get you dry and cozy,” Derek told him, and pulled him out of the tub before his arousal could overtake him.

 

Stiles let himself be pampered as Derek dried him thoroughly and Peter stood ready to pull his onesie over his head. Derek caged and diapered him quickly, still fighting against Stiles’ arousal which was simmering just below the surface. Then there was teeth brushing time as supervised by Derek while Peter got the bedroom nice and cozy.

 

“Can you read me a story?” Stiles asked boldly as Derek carried him into his room.

 

Derek all but melted at the request. “Of course I can read you a story,” he said indulgently, and moved them both to the rocking chair. Even Peter stuck around, perching on the end of a nearby chest to listen in. It wasn’t one that Stiles knew this time, not a classic that he was aware of. Just an old children's book they’d picked up somewhere. Some generic story about a dog. But it was perfect. He was warm and content and loved.

 

It took Stiles a little while to settle down enough to be sleepy, but gradually he did as the excitement of the visit faded away.  But steadily it did fade, as Stiles faded off into sleep.

 


	9. Day 16, Wednesday

“You still sleeping?” Derek’s voice filtered through to him, and he blinked when Derek turned on the lights.

 

Stiles relaxed his bladder almost instinctively as soon as he was aware of the pressure, wetting himself while Derek opened up the curtains and continued to talk to him, giving him a moment to acclimate. “You were pretty tired after your visit yesterday. But it’s time to wake up and have some breakfast. How does that sound?”

 

Stiles didn’t deign to answer, instead only reached his arms up toward Derek as he came around to the side of the crib. He wanted morning snuggles, and Derek was always willing to indulge him. He scooped Stiles out and cuddled him close as Stiles clung.

 

“Uncle Peter has to work again this morning,” Derek told him as he paced the room, rubbing his back. “I thought we could go out into the yard for a while and pick up some nature things for future projects. We’ll get some flowers and ferns to press in a book so that we can do something with them later on. And pick up some pine cones if we can find them for arts and crafts this fall. It’s not really their season, but there are always a few lying around. I can also take you down to the stream to pick out some smooth rocks and let you play in the water.”

 

Stiles smiled and perked up considerably as excitement built in him for the day. That did sound awfully appealing, even if Peter couldn’t come. Peter wasn’t as good at looking at nature anyway. Derek had an eye for it, and a patience that Peter lacked.

 

“Okay,” Stiles agreed softly, thumb gravitating into his mouth.

 

“Let’s get you cleaned up and ready,” Derek suggested, now that Stiles seemed awake enough to be set down without a fuss.

 

Derek pulled off his night clothes and removed the messy diaper, gripping Stiles by the ankles and manoeuvring him with practiced ease. It didn’t feel strange at all anymore, and Stiles could hardly believe they’d only been doing this for less than a week. How had he fallen into it so easily?

 

The wipes felt cool and fresh on his skin, his cock limp and comfortable when the cage was removed briefly for cleaning. Stiles sighed happily as Derek lotioned his crotch, pleased that his cock didn’t so much as twitch at the stimulation for once. It felt nice, but he didn’t have to fight against the cage once it was re-secured. It was much easier that way.

 

As usual, Derek’s slippery finger rubbed against his furled hole, then pressed gently in. Stiles moaned around the thumb in his mouth, legs splaying just fractionally more as he invited the stimulation.

 

“You know what else is today?” Derek asked him.

 

“Hm?” Stiles mumbled in response, eyes slitting closed as he focused on the intimate touch.

 

“Today Daddy’s going to work on stretching you wide open after nap time, so that when the full moon comes you can handle Uncle Peter’s knot.”

 

_Fuck yes_ , Stiles thought, and was silently thankful for the thumb in his mouth preventing the words. He wasn’t sure what Derek would do, but he’d probably reprimand him for the big boy words at any rate. He let out a frustrated sigh as Derek’s probing finger withdrew, and Derek began to do up his diaper and pick out the day’s clothes. Now that Derek had mentioned stretching him out, he was thoroughly in the mood to do that  _now_ .

 

“No pouting,” Derek admonished him, lightly tapping his nose. “Let’s go brush your teeth and get some breakfast.”

 

~~~

 

At the breakfast table, Peter was already halfway through a bowl of cereal as he had been the day before, and a warm bottle was set out and waiting. Stiles still wasn't so sure about Peter disappearing when he'd barely seen the man, but he was placated by the new pattern being established, and by the continued pattern of his own meal. Derek tipped him back into his arms and pressed the nipple of the bottle to his mouth. Still feeling warm and comfortable from his sleep, he took it willingly and suckled the formula down. It was thick and sweet as it always had been, but now he found himself almost starting to crave the familiarity of it. It was warm and heavy in his belly, and felt like safety and love.

 

"He's always so docile in the mornings," Peter commented as he stood to look down at them, his own breakfast now finished.

 

"You should have seen how eager he was for my fingers in him," Derek said with a smile. "I think we'll have good fun after nap time today."

 

"Is that right?" Peter asked Stiles as he continued to suckle away. While Stiles drank his bottle he stared up at Peter, eyes slitting closed a bit as Peter's hand came down to rub against his belly. "You're quite the distraction," Peter told him. "If I didn't have to work, I'd be tempted to give you those fingers you want."

 

"Later," Derek reminded him.

 

"I know." He heaved a sigh, hand dropping away. "I'll see you at lunch." With that,he was gone, and Stiles sat in the quiet kitchen finishing his bottle with Derek as the morning sun just peeked through the windows.

 

When he finished, Derek set him aside and buckled him into his high chair as usual and handed him his sippy cup of water with his pill.

 

"Do you think you can drink that for me while I eat and then wash up?" Derek asked. "It's going to be hot out today."

 

Stiles wasn't particularly thirsty after having had his bottle of milk, but the cup wasn't too large and he had some time. Besides, now that Derek had asked him to drink it all, he found that he wanted to please him so he steadily sipped at it off and on while Derek fed himself.

 

Then, they headed out.

 

Stiles toddled along carefully behind Derek as they made their way into the back yard. The early morning dew was still in the grass, and it felt cold on his bare feet. His legs, exposed to the cool air broke out in goosebumps. But it was nice even so, and the sun was just beginning to warm the day.

 

Rather than stick strictly to the yard, Derek led them a bit into the woods, a bag slung over one shoulder and a little basket in hand. Stiles picked wildflowers here and there, and a few ferns to add to the basket. Derek told him they'd press them in a heavy book when they got home, and Stiles wondered whether they'd use the tome with all the illustrations of knotting.

 

There was a lot to see in the woods when Stiles had a purpose. There were pine cones and acorns. Little bugs to look at and rabbits hiding in the brush. A cluster of mushrooms that Derek urged him away from, recognizing them as highly poisonous. Derek led the way slowly toward a stream, and by the time they got there Stiles was thoroughly warmed up and ready to sit down by its bank.

 

Derek produced another cup of water from his bag, urging Stiles to drink it, and it was then Stiles realized he already had a full bladder from all his drinking at breakfast. He hoped that Derek had spare diapers in that bag as he let himself wet.

 

But for once, Derek's sharp nose didn't notice the problem immediately, as he was a bit away looking around while Stiles rested, and perhaps with the direction of the breeze and the smells of nature, Stiles realized he was going to have to say something.

 

"Daddy," he called softly, blushing already.

 

"What's up?" Derek looked up immediately.

 

"I'm wet," Stiles divulged, hesitant to say more than that. Derek had come over, and Stiles was glad that his sharp wolf nose would figure out the problem now that he had his attention.

 

"Thank you for telling me," Derek praised him. "Let's get you cleaned up," he suggested, and dug into his bag until he pulled out a towel to lay Stiles down on. He undid the snaps to his onesie and rucked it up on Stiles' waist as usual, then removed the dirty diaper to a plastic bag. He took his time with the wipes, but there the routine stopped. No lotion. No new diaper.

 

"How about you look for some rocks and do your playing in the water for now?" Derek suggested. He rucked the onesie the rest of the way up Stiles' body and slipped it off. Not only was he entirely naked, Stiles realized, but Derek hadn't even bothered to put his cock cage back on, since he was going to be wet. His heart raced in his chest at the prospect. This was certainly living free with nature, which might have seemed normal for the wolf but was a first for him.

 

"Okay, Daddy," Stiles answered with some quiet excitement. He felt a little thrill as Derek helped him sit up, and he tip-toed to the edge of the shallow water, careful of his bare feet. He dipped a toe in and shivered a bit. It was cold!

 

"Go on, sweetheart," Derek encouraged him, stripping out of his own clothes and shoes to join him. Derek waded ankle deep into the stream without hesitation.

 

"Cold," Stiles complained.

 

"It'll be good for you," Derek said, rolling his eyes a bit. He reached for Stiles' hand and pulled him further in as the cold water lapped around Stiles' ankles. Stiles gave a shriek and laughed at the cold zing under his skin. The silt shifted beneath his feet, and he stepped gingerly on the smooth stones.

 

"You pick out some nice smooth stones for projects later," Derek told him, wading back to shore to grab their basket.

 

Stiles reached down to grasp an attractive one, and soon found himself with rivulets of water running down arms and legs as he continued into water up to his knees, gathering a little collection. It was probably smart that Derek had removed all of Stiles’ clothes, as he became increasingly wet over time, handing his collection of rocks to his daddy for safe keeping.

 

It was the longest he'd been without his cage since arriving in this strange new world, he realized after a while. But in the frigid water his cock dangled limp and small between his legs, balls contracted as far into his body as they could go. When he caught a glimpse of himself, he truly felt small, and another weight from his past floated away.

 

"Let's get you dried off," Derek suggested. "It's time to go back to the house and get some lunch."

 

Now that he mentioned it, Stiles was starting to get a bit hungry. And in spite of the growing heat of the day, the water had left him chilled. It would be nice to dry off.

 

Derek wrapped him in a towel the second he was out of the water, then laid him out to get him in his diaper. Stiles closed his eyes against the brightness of the sun and felt its warmth sink into his chilled flesh. His daddy manipulated his little package, ensuring he was clean and dry, and well lotioned. Though his cock and balls remained a bit shrivelled in protest against the cold.

 

"Look at how sweet you are for Daddy," Derek gushed, and Stiles felt warmth blossom in his chest. "And so cute and small," he commented on the cocklette in his hand as he reattached Stiles' cock cage. "If you keep wearing your cage, we might have to size down," he said casually, and Stiles felt a jolt of something like both humiliation and arousal in his gut at the words. "Sometimes little boys who are kept small and docile like you shrink down to a smaller size."

 

He had actually known that going in, but he hadn't really given it much thought. It wasn't like his cock would become permanently smaller, should he choose one day to get erections again. So it wasn't any sort of deal breaker. But the penis in its flaccid state could go somewhat more flaccid and shrivelled if it never had cause to expand. He already felt tiny in his little cage, and an even smaller cage seemed almost inconceivable to him. Even though right now his cock certainly wasn't taking up much space.

 

His thoughts on the subject were pushed out of his head again as Derek dressed him in the scant onesie once more. After his nudity in the cool water, it felt comfortably warm against his skin in spite of how little of him it covered.

 

Stiles was feeling comfortably tired by the time Derek had packed their few things up. He looked toward the woods and felt daunted at the considerable walk home. Instead, he looked up from his seat on the ground, his wide eyes focused on Derek. He raised his arms beseechingly. "Daddy, I'm tired," he whined shyly, never having made such a request before.

 

Derek only smiled indulgently. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder, the basket handle into the crook of his elbow and effortlessly scooped Stiles up into his arms. "Are you?" Derek asked, then pressed a kiss onto his temple.

 

"Uh-huh," Stiles confirmed, wrapping arms and legs around Derek and clinging like an octopus as Derek set out toward home.

 

"Well, as soon as we get home you can have a nice bottle, then settle down for your nap. How does that sound?"

 

"Good," he sighed, closing his eyes. Actually, it sounded perfect.

 

~~~

 

Derek didn't have Stiles help make Peter's lunch that day, but Stiles didn't mind. The wait in his high chair was bad enough. He was both mentally sleepy and physically tired after his exertions, and the building heat of the day only added to his fatigue. He was relieved that he didn't have anything difficult to do, and that Derek made his bottle first. As he curled into Derek's embrace and sucked, he almost thought he could drift to sleep like this. Even as he suckled and drifted a bit, he let his bladder release. All the water Derek had been giving him was catching up. Derek noticed of course, but he let Stiles finish his bottle before he took him up to his room for a change.

 

"Are you a sleepy boy?" Derek asked as he cleaned him up, as Stiles' eyes had drifted shut yet again.

 

"Uh-huh, Daddy," Stiles mumbled, then pulled his thumb into his mouth. An entire half a day and he still hadn't been given his pacifier. He wanted something to suck and his thumb was it without conscious decision.

 

"How about I settle you down for your nap?" Derek asked, and Stiles only made an indistinct sound in response. He was dead weight as Derek lifted him from the changing table and transferred him to the crib, then slid the side of the crib into the locked position. Stiles curled himself around his bunny and was already drifting off as Derek closed his curtains against the light and heat of the day. He'd have to miss Derek making up a lunch for himself and Peter, because he was out like a light.

 

~~~

 

Stiles woke up feeling refreshed after the sleep of the dead. He wet himself without conscious thought, and wondered whether he’d woken up too early from his nap since neither Derek nor Peter was there yet. But there was no hope of sleeping again, not once he remembered what came after nap time.

 

“Daddy,” he called out hesitantly, and waited to see whether anyone would respond. Rather than Derek, it was Peter who swept into the room, flicking on the lights.

 

“Are you awake already?” he asked.

 

“Uh-huh, Peter,” Stiles agreed, lifting his arms to be lifted out of the crib. Peter had been on his way to the curtains, but he snorted in amusement and lifted Stiles out instead. Then he carried Stiles with him to open the curtains once again.

 

“Someone’s a bit eager to get up. I wonder if there could be a reason for that,” he teased.

 

Stiles buried his face against Peter’s neck, because Peter’s guess was correct and he wondered if he’d been that obvious.

 

“Let’s get you changed. I’m sure Derek’s just as eager to get his hands on you as you are to have a hand _in_ you,” he commented, and Stiles’ eyes went wide. Was Peter teasing or did they really mean to fist him?

 

Stiles laid back and stared at the ceiling as Peter worked. He sucked on his thumb which was now slightly wrinkly from having sucked it in his sleep, his palm and chin both getting a bit wet from the process, and he wished that one of his guardians would give him his pacifier.  It was unusual that they weren’t sticking one in his mouth at every given opportunity. Though he realized that he’d hardly said anything all day even without one. Perhaps it had worked to rewire his brain toward keeping quiet. And not just physically quiet, but mentally. There weren’t that many things he  _wanted_ to say. His thoughts more and more often were little in nature, as he simply let the bigger worries go.

 

“Are you ready for play time?” Peter asked him, and Stiles could feel the familiar slick finger prodding at his backside.

 

Stiles let out a grunt of pleasure at the rubbing which turned into a soft moan when he was breached. Yes, he obvious ly was looking forward to play time, and he assumed Peter’s question was rhetorical. “ Do you want your daddy to stretch you out?” he asked, working a second finger into Stiles’ hole. Stiles grunted at the intrusion and took a deep breath to relax. It did feel good. Full. Satisfying. “Or do you wish it was your Uncle Peter?” he prompted.

 

Stiles mulled it over. Peter was aggressive, which did have some erotic appeal. But Derek was always so careful with him. And as it was Peter’s knot that was inevitably going to breach him, he had to admit he wanted his daddy’s gentle hands to work him open. “Daddy,” he mumbled, pulling his thumb free of his mouth. He did his best to wipe away any drool, while his hips wriggled on Peter’s hand.

 

Peter snorted with amusement and pulled his fingers free. “I see how it is,” he said with mock affront. “Well, I’m sure Daddy’s waiting for you as well. Let’s go see him, shall we?”

 

Peter skimmed his hands under Stiles’ onesie and pulled it the rest of the way off, then lifted Stiles effortlessly into his arms and carted him down the stairs.

 

Derek was naked, that wasn’t a surprise, but his cock was only half hard and he was ignoring it. Instead, there was a concerning amount of lube set out, and towels thrown over the couch. A wooden box that had come from somewhere was set out on the side table, and from what Stiles could glimpse of the inside there were a variety of toys in different sizes and shapes.

 

“You’ve been requested personally.” Peter announced to Derek, and Derek grinned, eyes lighting up.

 

“Gimme,” he insisted, arms outstretched to receive Stiles who willingly held his arms out to be transferred.

 

“I can tell when I’m not wanted,” Peter grumped as Derek pressed kisses over Stiles’ face.

 

“That’s what happens when you hide in the office all morning and I take our bunny on an adventure. Isn’t that right?” Derek asked Stiles, and tickled his sides until Stiles shrieked with laughter, squirming in his lap.

 

“I’ll fill you up, sweetheart, don’t worry,” Derek assured him. “But is it okay if Uncle Peter helps to hold you?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles agreed immediately. Having both of them dote on him was his favourite thing.

 

Peter had stripped off his own clothes, lest they get messy with stray lube, and he wedged himself against the armrest of the sofa, angling his body and opening an arm and leg wide to receive Stiles. Stiles was passed back to him to lean his back against Peter’s front, nestled in the V of his legs. His back was mostly against the cushions of the couch, but his head rested against Peter’s stomach and lap. Peter took the opportunity to rub the pads of his thumbs over Stiles’ nipples until they peaked, then gave them a quick pinch.

 

Stiles gasped at the sensation as his skin heated up with arousal, though Peter let him go and moved down to hook his hands under Stiles’ knees, drawing his legs up toward his chest and spreading them wide. He didn’t have to put any effort into maintaining his position as Peter held him, fully exposed and vulnerable to Derek.

 

Derek lubed a finger and pressed it into Stiles’ pliant hole, and his eyes flicked up to give Peter a knowing look. “I see you two started without me.” He pressed a second finger into Stiles fairly effortlessly as Stiles sighed and let his eyes fall closed as his head rested against Peter.

 

“What can I say? He has a greedy little hole.” Peter shrugged.

 

“Hmm,” Derek mused, scissoring his fingers to work Stiles open gently as he plunged them in and out. He didn’t try to arouse him, nor did he rush, but simply worked patiently to stretch. “I can see what you mean. I’ll have to find something nice and thick to fill this little hole.”

 

Peter rubbed his legs, thumbs petting the backs of his knees and relaxing him further into a puddle as Derek eased him open. Stiles’ breathing deepened as the stretch increased. When Derek finally eased a third finger in, he felt split wide open. Definitely that was around the width of Peter’s cock, sans knot, though of course Derek’s fingers couldn’t reach as deeply into his guts. Stiles’ mouth fell open in a wanton moan and the squelching of the lube as Derek fucked him sounded obscene.

 

Derek pulled free once his fingers could slip into him with ease. He twisted to look into the wooden box beside him, rustling the various things around as he made his selection. “Let’s see here. What would make my sweet boy feel nice?”

 

While Stiles waited, Peter had lowered his legs to allow him to stretch them a bit, and his hands had wandered back up to Stiles’ nipples. Stiles was flushed and his breathing rapid as Peter worked him up further. His cock which had been surprisingly quiescent as Derek had done his best to move slowly and avoid his prostate was now perking to attention inside its metal cage. It was a blessed relief when Derek selected his toy and Peter was forced to pull back Stiles’ legs once again. At least he had a chance to try and steady his breath and calm back down. Though he didn’t have long. He hadn’t seen what Derek had chosen, but he could feel it entering him, and it was a monster.

 

Stiles let out a plaintive whine as Derek steadily worked the monster toy into his stretched hole. It felt  _big_ . Bigger than Peter, maybe. Or perhaps it was the same, but without the natural give of flesh and without the emotional component of being fucked by a person. This was firm and unyielding, pressing much more deeply into him than Derek’s fingers had been.

 

“Oh just push it in,” Peter said with fond exasperation. “It’s barely thicker than I am. He can take it.”

 

“You push it in when it’s your turn,” Derek retorted. “I want you to take a big breath, sweetheart,” Derek told Stiles. “And when you let it out, bear down.”

 

S tiles struggled to take a deep breath in. It was hard when he was sweating and stretched open. When Peter held his legs splayed wide, and a monstrous dildo was working into his ass. But he tried, taking a shaking breath in and filling his lungs as much as he could. As he let it out, he bore down as Derek had asked him and felt the toy gently slip several inches deeper into his guts. He let out a soft grunt at the fullness of it as Peter manoeuvred one of his hands down to rub at his belly.

 

Derek rocked the toy in and out of him a few times, and finally Stiles felt the base of it against his entrance. He was stuffed, and his body trembled with the strain of it while his mouth hung open, taking panting breaths as if he’d run a marathon.

 

“How’s that?” Derek asked him gently as he continued to softly fuck the toy in and out of him.

 

“Good,” Stiles answered breathlessly.

 

“Our little size whore,” Peter said in a fond tone. “Let’s go wider,” he suggested to Derek, an excitement and eagerness in his voice.

 

“You work him wider tomorrow. Today is my day and we’re going to go slow.” He pushed the toy home again, and then kept pressing the base a bit further until Stiles felt his hole give, then flutter around a flanged base as if it were a plug, though it stretched deeply into him. Once it was seated within him and unlikely to move on its own, Peter lowered his legs down, and then Derek flicked a switch on the base of the toy.

 

The whole length of it buzzed to life and Stiles jerked in surprise, then let out a soft moan as his eyes glazed over with a haze of pleasure.

 

“There,” Derek said with satisfaction. “That should feel nice for him. You can take his mouth first since you’re closest.”

 

Peter was already helping Stiles to turn over to his side, then nearly on his front as he nudged his cock into Stiles’ open mouth. It was a bit of an awkward angle, and wasn’t helped by how boneless Stiles had become, but Peter made it work, fucking into Stiles’ mouth and nudging into his throat as Stiles made quiet choking noises and tried to take him.

 

“That’s it, darling. That’s perfect,” he encouraged, petting his fingers through Stiles’ hair and directing him with firm motions to swallow more. “Relax your throat. Swallow. That’s it.” Peter grunted huskily, and began to thrust more forcefully into the pliant boy.

 

Stiles was overwhelmed but in the best way. Though he couldn’t quite manage not to gag, he loved how Peter pushed his boundaries, and he did his best to swallow around the thick cock filling his mouth, nudging deeper into his throat on every thrust. His eyes watered and he struggled to get enough air, but the scent of Peter was heady and it was so easy just to let go, let it happen, let Peter do this. The hand on his head felt guiding and steady, not frightening in the slightest. And his body was alight with the sensations of the toy buzzing deep in his ass, up into his guts. He felt his toes curling with pleasure. And then Derek’s hands were on him too. Rubbing his back, his legs, wherever he could reach. It further relaxed him, if that was possible, and set his skin alight.

 

There were sounds, he noted distantly. Breathing. Peter’s deep grunts, and that sub-aural growl that rumbled through his chest. The buzz of the toy. And a steady litany of whines and whimpers. Tiny sounds that might come from prey. Through the fog in his brain, it took him some time to realize those sounds were from him.

 

Then Peter’s cock was pulsing in a familiar way, and Stiles swallowed even more greedily than he had been as Peter held him steady, unloading his cum right to the back of Stiles’ throat. Stiles swallowed like he needed Peter’s release to live. He was going to fly apart at the seams, and he needed more. More something, more everything. For the toy to buzz more fiercely, or to press more firmly into his prostate. He wanted to cum. He wanted Derek to cum. He wanted someone to fuck him. He let off a choked sort of sob, his eyes tearing slightly with his desperation.

 

He barely realized that Peter was helping to hold him up more on his hands and knees, instead of lying in his lap. His legs trembled to hold himself steady but Peter’s strong arms locked around his torso, and his head was turned toward the side. At some point Derek had stood up and had moved beside them. Now he shoved his own considerable erection into Stiles’ swollen mouth.

 

Derek was less forceful than Peter, but it didn’t matter. Worked up to this degree, Stiles choked himself as he strained for more, swallowed whenever Derek reached the back of his throat.

 

“Fuck,” Derek swore softly and picked up his pace in response to Stiles’ desperation. He didn’t last long, and soon spilled his own release into Stiles’ mouth. Stiles swallowed hungrily and continued to try and chase Derek’s cock with tongue and lips, even as he pulled away.

 

“Shh,” Peter soothed him, petting his back and pulling him down to his lap once again, even as Stiles keened and writhed, seeking some unobtainable release. “Just relax, sweetheart.”

 

“Please,” Stiles begged, uncertain what he was begging for, or which one of them to appeal to. “Please, please, please....”

 

Derek was behind him again, seated on the couch, and he could feel the dildo being worked out of him again, his hole stretching wide around the narrowed flange. Then the vibrating toy thrust in and out, not nearly so gently as Derek had worked it in to begin with. Now Derek seemed to have decided Stiles could take it as each thrust was a gut punch of the most delicious sort.

 

He grunted lustily as Derek worked him over, barely noticing that his cock was leaking steadily onto the towel below. Used to the cage now, his cock was still quiescent between his legs, though his balls had drawn up and he could feel orgasm drawing steadily closer as Derek took pity on him and angled the thick toy at his prostate more directly with each plunge. His entire attention was on his hole and the sensations within it. Then he felt that same strange release he’d felt the day before. Cum pooled on the towel in front of him as Derek fucked it out of him, and his hole fluttered and clenched around the toy.

 

Stiles gave a full bodied shudder as Derek fucked a few more thrusts against his over-stimulated prostate, and then finally Derek turned the buzzing toy off and withdrew. His hole felt soft and wide, gaping even more than it usually would after a thorough fucking. He could feel the contrast of the air temperature on it, and how it wouldn’t fully close up.

 

Derek’s lubed fingers sought it out, three pressing in without any difficulty. Stiles sighed and laid exhausted in Peter’s lap as Peter pet him. “You’re such a good boy,” Peter murmured to him, and Stiles let himself bask in the praise.

 

Derek continued to spread his three fingers wide inside his fucked out hole, carefully avoiding his spent prostate.

 

“Can he take four yet?” Peter asked.

 

“I don’t want to force it,” Derek answered. “Not today. The full isn’t until Saturday. We’ve still got time.”

 

“You know I’m not going to be satisfied unless I get my fist up there tomorrow.”

 

“Given that display, I’m not sure he’ll be satisfied either,” Derek said wryly, and withdrew his hand. He reached for the wipes and began the steady process of cleaning them up. While there wasn’t much cum to contend with this time, lube was everywhere.

 

S tiles felt incredibly empty once the toy had been removed from him, though it had left a delicious sort of ache and stretch. He was all too happy to remain pliant, his head in Peter’s lap, while Derek did the cleaning up.

 

He felt his cage being removed for cleaning, and only then remembered his soft cock, now sensitive from his orgasm even if it had been neglected throughout. He still found it incredible that he could have an orgasm of any sort without an erection, but the evidence was spilled on the towel before him.

 

Stiles squirmed as Derek lotioned his spent cock and balls, and if anything they tried to shrink further in Derek’s palm to escape the touch on overly sensitized skin. “Look at how sweet and small you are for Daddy,” Derek commented, and Stiles blushed as Derek gently closed his hand around his package.  He really did feel particularly small just then. He whined as Derek tugged at him again, rubbing the lotion in thoroughly. Stiles  whimpered at the touch and curled his hips away.

 

“Be a good boy,” Peter admonished him. “And let your daddy make you feel nice.”

 

Stiles tried to still his hips, breathing a bit fast as Derek carefully smoothed his fingers over the sensitive skin. But he didn’t linger, and it was soon over as he locked the cage back in place. In a few more moments, Stiles was snug and dry in a new diaper and onesie, and all evidence of their play time had been carefully cleared off the couch.

 

“Sit up, darling,” Peter urged him, and Stiles winced a bit as he finally pushed himself up to sit on his overworked bottom. He pouted and was rewarded with _finally_ having his pacifier pressed into his mouth. He sighed and sucked on it gratefully, tension he didn’t know he had draining instantly away.

 

“Let’s read a bit more about werewolves, shall we?” Peter suggested, and Derek was already up off the couch to retrieve the thick book. Stiles snuggled in against Peter’s side and got comfortable, smiling as Derek cuddled in against his other side. And for the next hour they continued Stiles’ education about packs, and the shift, and what he might expect on the full moon. About the history of their kind, and all manner of information that was so involved he felt he could read about it for the rest of his life and still have something to learn.

 

~~~

 

After story time, there was colouring on the rug again. Stiles chose a picture of a caged little cock and tiny balls. Nothing else was on the page, as the image was blown up to take the whole space. It was simple work to colour and didn’t take long, and he didn’t think over much about why he’d chosen that one.

 

“Is that you?” Derek asked him when Stiles showed him the finished product.

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles answered with a blush. It was strange to think about it being him, but he couldn’t deny that he was in the same such cage as the one in the book.

 

“Do you like having your little cocklette locked up?” Derek asked him. “Kept nice and small and soft?”

 

Stiles blushed more deeply and gave an uncomfortable shrug. He wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not, and admitting to any feelings about it either way seemed too big a task for the moment.

 

Luckily, Derek seemed to understand. “That’s okay if you’re not sure,” he said, ruffling Stiles’ hair. “ Let me put your colouring away and I’ll get you some toys to play with before supper.”

 

Derek put the crayons and colouring book back away in the mysterious toy chest, and brought out two new toys that Stiles hadn’t seen before. He perked up immediately at the sight of the figurines. A little human figure of ambiguous gender or age, crude in design, and a similarly crude wolf. He smiled and reached out for them as Derek brought them over. These toys were far superior to blocks.

 

The wolf and boy (because obviously the human figure was Stiles) danced across the rug as they went on adventures. They curled up together to cuddle and sleep. Stiles boldly allowed the boy to ride the wolf when he realized he could balance them properly. And with a surreptitious glance around, he positioned the boy on all fours to be fucked by his wolf from behind. Peter caught him at it in the end and Stiles blushed scarlet as Peter gave him a knowing look.

 

“Is that us, darling?” he asked curiously, and Stiles shrugged and cast his glance away, abandoning the toys as if he’d had nothing to do with their positions.

 

“That’s very sweet of you,” Peter encouraged him. “Do you want to take my knot when I’m in my Alpha shift?” he asked curiously, and Stiles thought surely he’d burst into flame from how mortified he was at the conversation. Did he want that? He couldn’t answer that even for himself. “I had only planned to take you in my Beta shift, but I’d be happy to give you whatever you need, sweetheart.” Peter prattled on as he gathered up the toys and put them away in their box, then scooped Stiles up from the floor. Only then did Stiles realize it was supper time, as Peter had his bottle in hand.

 

S tiles opened his mouth to receive his bottle as soon as the pacifier was pulled away. In the moment, it wasn’t even a conscious thought, and he began to suck with a quiet, pleased sigh. The warmth of the liquid pooling in his belly had his eyes slitting closed in comfort.

 

It was only when Stiles neared the end of his bottle that he realized the difference. There wasn’t quite the same urgency to relieve himself as he usually felt at supper. Peter had forgone the laxative that night. His heart-rate increased a bit at the realization. He couldn’t help but remember the last time Peter had let him try all on his own. They’d had to use the suppository and the whole affair had been bad. He didn’t want to repeat it.

 

His eyes shot open and he looked up at Peter worriedly. “Relax, darling,” Peter soothed him, rubbing his hand back and forth over Stiles’ lower stomach. “I know you can go when you need to. Don’t work yourself into a fret over it, and just let yourself go. If you need me to help you later, you know that I will.”

 

That was true, he thought to himself. He tried not to think of the reality of what the suppository felt like, and to instead remember the most pertinent fact. That Peter would take care of him, and do whatever was best. The bulk of his anxiety and distress over this situation had always been created in his own mind. He steadied his breathing as he finished the last of the meal, and let Peter shift him into a sitting position as he curled into Peter’s embrace. He’d done this twice now, he reminded himself. He knew he could use his diaper. It wasn’t rocket science.

 

It might not have been rocket science, but it was a bi t nerve  wracking. After five days of assisted bowel movements, Stiles had to re-engage muscles that would normally be spasming on their own by now. The one disconcerting thing about pushing when he finally did, was how loose his hole felt even with a thicker stool than usual. Instead of the spread of a pudding-like consistency, there was no denying that this was regular  _poop_ , which embarrassed him anew somehow. He would never get used to any of this, he was sure. But his hole, stretched hours ago by their play, didn’t complain one bit about the girth of what he was releasing. Stiles wondered just how fucked open he had been, and how much more was to come.

 

He buried his face in Peter’s neck as Peter told him he was a good boy and carted him up the stairs.

 

“There’s no reason to be embarrassed, sweetheart. Why are you still so worried about this?” Peter asked him when they reached the room. He laid Stiles down on his changing table and began to untape the diaper. Stiles had to avert his gaze. It was just too mortifying. And unfortunately, after he’d finished his bottle Peter hadn’t given him his pacifier back. He didn’t really have an excuse not to answer.

 

“Don’t like it,” he mumbled as he continued to look away. As if soiling himself wasn’t embarrassing enough on its own, now Peter expected him to be able to talk about it? Stiles had always been a man of many words, but he didn’t have the words for a conversation like this.

 

“There are supernaturally based treatments we could use to relax your bowel if you really needed help,” Peter told him as he whisked away the mess and started in with the wipes. As if there were no problem at all. “Would you like it better if you didn’t have to go on your own?”

 

“No!” Stiles was quick to deny. He definitely didn’t want to lose total control over his bowel movements. That sounded horrendous. “No, I can do it!”

 

“I know you can, sweetheart,” Peter placated him. “And you did a very good job. You’re my good boy. But if you decide it’s too hard for you, your daddy and I can make it easier, alright?”

 

“I’m okay,” Stiles assured him hurriedly, hoping Peter would forget that course of action entirely.

 

“Alright, darling,” Peter answered him as he carefully wiped around his rim. Wrapping a finger in one of the wipes, Peter pressed inside of him and Stiles squirmed at the unfamiliar feeling. He was sure Peter did it just to make the experience all the more intrusive. Though even with the scratching of the cloth and the sting of antiseptic, Stiles couldn’t deny he enjoyed the penetration, always. He was almost regretful when he felt the finger go.

 

P eter moved on to the lotion, which was cursory at best. Apparently the time for teasing was over, and soon Stiles was redressed and clean and comfortable. Peter scooped him up to bring down to supper, which was now set out on the table. A sippy cup of water was at the ready for Stiles as well,  at his chair. He was almost used to the chair now, the strap snug across his lap, the barrier of the tray. The idea of sitting in a kitchen chair without Derek or Peter’s arms around him gave him an uneasy feeling when he considered the notion. He may have once felt a bit confined in the special seat, but now he happily let Peter strap him in and reached out for his cup when it was handed to him. He immediately began to suck, only realizing belatedly he hadn’t wet when he’s soiled, and with the addition of the water he’d have to go again soon. At least after supper it would be bath time, and Derek and Peter would undress him anyway.

 

As Derek and Peter ate and Stiles quietly sipped, the adults conversed lightly about this and that. Then Derek produced Stiles’ colouring book from seemingly nowhere. He was certain he’d seen Derek put it away before, but apparently he’d gotten it back out in the time he’d been upstairs. He blushed from head to toe as Derek flipped to his latest work of art.

 

“Look at what Stiles coloured for us today.” Derek showed him, and Peter’s face lit up as if it truly was a work of art.

 

“That’s lovely. You did this?” he asked Stiles, though of course he had.

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles confirmed quietly, keeping the mouth of his cup pressed against his lips as an excuse not to talk.

 

"He told me it was a picture of him," Derek divulged, and Stiles averted his gaze in embarrassment.

 

"Did he?" Peter gushed. "I don't know about that. I think our baby's little cock is much prettier than this one. Do you know what he was doing with the wolf figure earlier?" Peter prompted.

 

"What's that?" Derek asked.

 

"Having it mount the other figure quite explicitly. I think our little boy wants to feel my knot in my Alpha shift."

 

Derek looked over at Stiles curiously. "Is that so?" he wondered. "Do you like the idea of your own overgrown puppy to play with?" he grinned as Peter glowered a bit. "His soft fur against your back?"

 

Stiles shrugged and wriggled a bit, which only caused Derek to grin.

 

"Do you think you could do it without hurting him?" Derek asked Peter curiously.

 

"I don't see why not, in theory." Peter shrugged. "We'll see how he handles my Beta shift first. But in general I'm inclined to give him what he wants, as long as it's in his best interests."

 

There was more chit chat as they finished their meal, but eventually the dishes were set aside in the sink and it was time for Stiles' bath. On the way up the stairs, he let his bladder go while in Derek's arms, timing it perfectly for when it was time to get undressed.

 

Stiles was pleased to have both his guardians for bath time. Having both of them fawn over him, touch him, praise him, was everything he could possibly have wanted from this lifestyle. He hadn't been here long in the scheme of things, though time had a way of slipping away from him these days. And sometimes thoughts of his past would rear their ugly head. But it was easy enough to push them away. To be there in the moment, and soak in the affection. To know he was safe, and taken care of. He could breathe again.

 

Derek's soapy finger prodded where Peter had been fussing only a short time before. Stiles made a face and wriggled in discomfort at the attention. After such intense play that afternoon, he was still feeling overly stretched, and the bathwater had a way of seeping in. He was a bit sore, or maybe just overused feeling back there, and without proper lube the attention wasn't necessarily his favourite.

 

"Don't fuss," Derek admonished him gently and Stiles did his best to sit still and endure. At least Derek didn't seem to delight in torturing him, and just when Stiles thought he might have to shift again, Derek had pulled away, satisfied that Stiles was clean, and his interest in how stretched Stiles remained was sated.

 

"No damage, I take it," Peter commented in a tone that said it was obvious.

 

"I just worry."

 

"I know. But there's no need to. We're both careful, and he's resilient. He's human, Derek, but he's not made of glass. You're not going to break him."

 

"We could though," Derek insisted. "If we weren't careful."

 

"But we are," Peter assured him and reached out to squeeze the back of Derek's neck firmly. Some of the tension drained away from him, and he seemed placated at that. Stiles was fine, in spite of a bit more challenging play, and they weren't going to break him.

 

Soon enough, the water was cooling, the duck had become boring, and they'd run out of parts to clean. It was time to drain the tub and wrap Stiles in a fluffy towel. Then diaper and night clothes, followed by supervised brushing of teeth.

 

“Can you read me a story?” Stiles asked shyly as Derek carted him into the bedroom.

 

Derek heaved a fond sigh. “I suppose,” he agreed and settled into the rocking chair with Stiles.

 

“You spoil him,” Peter admonished, though it was clear by his own fond look that he supported the decision.

 

“Of course,” Derek agreed easily, and he held out his hand to accept whatever book Peter had chosen. As before, Peter perched on a nearby chest to listen to the story, and by the end of it, Stiles had drifted nearly to sleep. He was dead weight in Derek’s arms as he transferred him to the crib. He barely noticed when they turned out the light.

 


	10. Day 17, Thursday

Stiles woke on his stomach. The room was still quiet and dark, and he had a full bladder as usual. He let himself go, and sighed at the feeling of the spreading warmth between his legs. It was actually sort of pleasant, so long as he didn’t have to sit in it too long.

 

Stiles blinked as the light to his room was flicked on, and saw it was Peter who’d come to get him that morning, which was a bit of a surprise.

 

“Have you been up for long?” he asked curiously when he saw Stiles was already awake and wet.

 

“Mm-mm,” Stiles answered sleepily, then rolled over to lift his arms demandingly at Peter.

 

Peter lifted him out obligingly and Stiles snuggled into him, burying his face in Peter’s neck against the glare of the lights.

 

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you out of that and into something nice and dry,” he encouraged, rubbing his hand along Stiles’ back.

 

Stiles was pried away from him reluctantly, still wanting to cling,  but Peter was always a bit less indulgent than Derek and he wanted to move on to getting Stiles dressed, not sit in the rocking chair until Stiles had deemed himself ready.

 

Peter had opened the curtains before lifting Stiles out of his crib, and as Stiles laid on his changing table he saw that not only was it dark out, but it was raining. No wonder he felt sleepy. Now that he listened, he could hear it as well, the soft patter of drops lulling him back toward sleep. His eyes fell closed as Peter cleaned him up, and his body laid lax as it always did in the early morning.

 

Stiles sighed contentedly when Peter moved inevitably to fingering him. He couldn’t believe how easily one finger slipped into him. His muscles were simply trained now to relax and let it happen. Though he’d closed up again in the night, there was a certain pliability that remained, and a certain ingrained acceptance of penetration.

 

“You like that, don’t you sleepy bunny?” Peter asked him.

 

“Mmm.” Stiles moaned softly. “Uh-huh, Peter.” He didn’t want it to stop, and for the moment it seemed like Peter agreed and was enjoying himself enough to keep doing it.

 

“You’re delicious like this,” Peter said, his voice low and predatory. He squeezed in a second finger without much trouble, and that was definitely veering away from the morning norm. Stiles let out a small whimper of pleasure at the stretch. “I’ll bet I could easily work up to that toy from yesterday when you’re like this.” He let out a harsh sigh and removed his fingers. “But that’s for later,” he said firmly, perhaps more to himself, though Stiles did look up at him pleadingly.

 

“I know, darling. But we have breakfast to attend to,” Peter told him, then finished up his diaper and put him in the usual clothes. His skin broke out in goosebumps in the cool morning air, made damp by the rain, but he knew he would soon adjust, and it would soon warm up.

 

S tiles clung to Peter once more as he was carted into the bathroom, and stood on shaky legs as he was asked to brush his teeth.

 

“I suppose you’ll either be a handful today, or you’ll ruin your sleep schedule,” Peter commented as he gazed out the window. No dawn light managed to break through the gloom. “This will likely continue all day.” He heaved a sigh. “Though I suppose I could send you out naked with Derek and let you play in it, but I for one don’t relish getting rained on.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste at the idea.

 

S tiles turned the idea over in his mind as he finished up at the sink. He cast his own gaze toward the window and the gloom, and didn’t feel very heartened by what he saw. He’d never liked being out in the rain before, and though the idea of playing in the rain in the woods had a very hippie-nature-fairy feel to it, the reality he saw before him was darkness and muck, and didn’t look all too inviting. Even if it was still a fairly warm summer storm.

 

A sudden crack of thunder startled him, causing him to flinch in surprise. He wasn’t really scared of it, of course -- he was a fully grown adult. But the startlement was enough to send Peter’s warm hand onto his shoulder, grounding him. “Come on, finish up,” he reminded Stiles. “Then breakfast.”

 

Stiles rinsed his mouth once more and turned off the sink. His feet were cold on the tile of the bathroom floor and the rain outside was making him feel shivery.

 

“I’m cold,” he complained as Peter scooped him up.

 

“It’s seventy degrees in here,” Peter retorted incredulously, though his hands immediately checked Stiles’ exposed arms and legs.

 

“My feet are cold,” Stiles revised. Though the rest of him was maybe slightly chilly, most of that was psychological. The rain made him want to climb under a blanket, summer or no. And in California where summer meant drought season, he wasn’t accustomed to day long summer storms.

 

Peter’s hand gripped one of his feet, and the werewolf’s palm felt like a heater on his icy toes. He wiggled them in Peter’s grasp.

 

“So they are,” Peter agreed and carted Stiles back to his bedroom, setting him up on the changing table for a moment while he dug in a drawer. Apparently Stiles did have more than simple onesies, as Peter produced a pair of bright red socks for him. Stiles had to smile. They hadn’t just gotten him a pack of generic white socks, but had gone out of their way to make even socks special.

 

Peter expertly scrunched the sock and worked it onto his foot, and Stiles felt himself slip comfortably into his little space. Sometimes it took a bit of work, but right now regressing felt as easy as breathing. He couldn’t remember when someone had last put socks on him. And to have Peter doing it was a special bonus. Derek would coddle him to death if he could, but Peter was the stern one. After being denied morning cuddles, the socks more than made up for it, Stiles decided.

 

When they entered the kitchen, Stiles was pleased to see that Derek was only just finishing making breakfast sandwiches for himself and Peter. And Peter had been the one to wake him up, rather than hastily finishing a bowl of cereal. Maybe that meant that Thursday mornings Peter didn’t have to work, and wouldn’t disappear on them.

 

As a special treat, it was Peter who fed him as well. Having seen the man rush away the last two breakfasts, Stiles thought that was a satisfying balance as he snuggled close and drank his bottle down.

 

“Is he cold?” Derek asked as Peter drank.

 

“Just his feet,” Peter said calmly. “You can relax your mother-henning, Derek. I’m not going to freeze him.”

 

Derek spread his hands. “I just asked.”

 

“Mm,” Peter hummed skeptically. “I don’t suppose you have enough indoor activities planned to last the day?” he asked.

 

“He can colour or read like he already does, and he has his blocks and his action figures. But I thought maybe we’d do some arts and crafts this morning. We can paint and glitter the stones Stiles found, and when they dry put them in a glass jar.”

 

“What in god’s name for?” Peter asked with distaste.

 

“It’s a craft project,” Derek answered exasperatedly. “I read it in a human magazine about projects for kids.”

 

“Wonderful,” Peter sighed. “I’ll leave it to you to make nature thoroughly tasteless. Where are you going to do this painting?”

 

“I don’t know, at the table.”

 

“He can hardly paint from his chair. Do it on the floor.”

 

“Yes, _Alpha,_ ” Derek snarked.

 

“Put him in an old shirt or something. I don’t want him covered in paint.”

 

“You know we can wash him, right? If you’re this worked up about the arts and crafts you’re going to hate my afternoon plans.”

 

“Dare I ask?”

 

“Cookies,” Derek said emphatically.

 

“Derek, you’re not feeding our child sugary sweets. It’s bad enough you indulge him on Sundays with pancakes.”

 

“He can have just one cookie,” Derek argued. “He’s a kid.”

 

S tiles whimpered a bit and wriggled in Peter’s arms, absolutely hating even the mild argument. He really didn’t want to be the cause of trouble. As appealing as a cookie sounded, he didn’t need one if Peter didn’t want him to have one. He looked up at Peter’s face above him, trying to project satisfaction with his bottle.

 

Peter heaved a sigh. “You’re right, darling, we shouldn’t argue. I’ll consider the cookies and we can discuss it later.” Peter flicked his eyes toward Derek, giving him a significant look that quelled the argument for now. “As for the paint and glitter, I fully support watching the both of you from a safe distance.”

 

When Stiles had finished his bottle, Derek had finished his breakfast sandwich and was ready to take him off Peter’s hands and move on to something more fun. It took him only a moment to take his proffered Adderall, and then Derek was on the move toward greater things. And, Stiles was pleased to note, he got his pacifier that morning as well.

 

There wasn’t a tremendous amount of spare room on the kitchen floor, but there was enough against a wall between the window and table. Derek spread down some brown packing paper, Stiles observed with amusement. He’d wondered whether the wolves actually had newspapers, something which seemed far too human for the preserve. But no, they kept to their strange ways, as he’d expected.

 

Stiles was scooped out of his chair and settled down by the papers where he wouldn’t make a mess, and Derek produced as if by magic, little pots of paints, a jar of water, old rags, and craft store quality paint brushes.  An enormous old shirt, he wasn’t sure whose, was draped over his clothes, lending a further coziness on the rainy day.

 

Stiles  surveyed the craft supplies and  wondered just how much fun was squirrelled away in this house that looked so boring on the surface of things.  And then Derek produced Stiles’ smooth little stones out of the same basket he’d gathered them with. At some point, the flowers and ferns had all been whisked away to be pressed in a book, when Stiles wasn’t looking.

 

A t first he just surveyed his options, uncertain what to do. As sleepy and content as Stiles was in the mornings, here was one of those moments when his adult self inhibited his childlike inclinations. Painting. Colours. Right. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d done anything remotely like this, even slightly creative. What colour should he paint the rocks? There was no teacher instructing him what to do, and no friend to glance at and try to emulate, so even his meagre experiences with this sort of thing in grade school didn’t serve him. Though he was certain in the recesses of his mind that his mother had done this sort of thing with him once. He felt a painful twinge at the memory, and pushed it away.

 

Stiles reached decisively for the pot of red paint and the first stone he could touch. This one would be red. Maybe with spots, but one thing at a time.

 

~~~

 

The colourful stones were arrayed on the paper to dry right there on the floor, since they were out of the way, and Stiles had been plopped on the kitchen counter beside the sink, arms and hands hovering over the basin while Derek scrubbed at him with a soapy cloth. It was a good thing Peter had insisted on the old shirt, because that had become a casualty too, and there had even been a few spots of paint on Stiles’ bare legs that Derek had already cleaned off.

 

“It would have been faster to just dump him in the tub,” Peter commented as he came into the room, leaning on the door frame and looking smug.

 

“Shut it,” Derek told him, though there was no heat in his voice. “Go look at the perfect art Stiles made.”

 

Peter rolled his eyes fondly. He’d avoided the kitchen for the most part while the mess making had been in progress but he humoured them now, walking around the kitchen table to survey the results. “I love it,” he pronounced.

 

Derek let out a short laugh. “I thought you were against putting garish colours on nature on principle,” he teased.

 

“You didn’t tell me Stiles would do a perfect job,” Peter defended himself. It was obvious he was biased and as silly as he thought the craft project was, anything that Stiles produced was to be treasured. “You said you’re putting them in a jar?”

 

“Yeah, tomorrow. They should be dry by then.”

 

“We’ll put it on the mantelpiece,” Peter suggested.

 

“Planning on showing it off when people come over?” Derek asked with a small smile.

 

“Of course,” Peter answered breezily. He came back to the sink and inspected Derek’s work on removing the paint from Stiles. He swooped the over-large shirt over Stiles’ head and set it aside. “If you rub him anymore you’ll rub him raw,” Peter chastized and picked Stiles up before Derek could stop him. “He’s clean. And now I’m taking him; you had him all morning.”

 

“Where are you going?” Derek asked after them as Peter was already exiting the room.

 

“It’s story time. We’ll do a bit of learning first and then we can go back to _Heidi_.”

 

“Can I have the blanket?” Stiles mumbled around his pacifier as Peter settled them onto the couch together, books in hand.

 

Peter rolled his eyes dramatically but pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and arranged it over Stiles’ legs. “I can see you’re going to be a nightmare this winter, aren’t you?” he asked, though he failed to sound properly annoyed. “I’m sure Daddy will bundle you up to within an inch of your life.”

 

They settled in together, and Peter read to him from the werewolf tome for some time before switching over to  _Heidi_ . Outside, the rain continued to fall steadily though the sky had lightened to a murky grey as the day progressed. All in all, Stiles felt like he was divorced from time, and was content to snuggle into Peter for the duration of the morning without worrying about a thing.

 

~~~

 

Lunch was fine as Peter fed Stiles again, but Stiles' mind was on cookies. Derek had said they'd bake in the afternoon, and Stiles wondered whether he'd actually get to eat something so special. Even the idea of it made his bottle seem a little less satisfying, though he was careful not to indicate his thoughts to Peter. No doubt that was the fastest way to have Peter flat out refusing him other foods. He'd have to be on his best behaviour.

 

He wasn't very tired come nap time, in spite of the continued gloom, because he hadn't had any real exercise at all. Perhaps Peter was right, and he should have gone out in the wet and cold with Derek if this was the result, he thought, as he tried to get comfortable in his crib. A pillow would have helped, or a blanket, he thought, but he was getting fairly used to the plain mattress.

 

Normally he didn't even have much of a problem with the arrangement, though he'd always been fussy about his pillow in the past. No, his only real problem that day was that he wasn't as exhausted as usual that nap time, and he was convinced it was a bit cold. Even if Peter insisted it was seventy. He missed the blanket from the couch.

 

In spite of his discontent, after only five minutes of rootching Stiles was fast asleep, curled against his bunny as usual. Perhaps he'd been tired after all.

 

~~~

 

Stiles blinked awake again as he heard Derek moving about the room. Derek had opened his curtains again but very little light streamed in, and he hadn’t yet turned on the overhead lights. “Are you awake?” Derek asked softly, not wanting to disturb Stiles quite yet if he wasn’t.

 

Stiles made an indistinct sort of hum as he came back to awareness. The first order of business was to wet himself as he tried to orient. Derek flicked on the lights and Stiles squinted against the brightness. There was something about a rainy day that made him feel just a bit foggy all day and he struggled to remember that he’d been having a nap, not a night sleep, and what they were going to do next. Cookies came immediately to mind and he brightened considerably as Derek lifted him out of the crib and over to his changing table to clean him up.

 

“Are you ready for play time with Uncle Peter?” Derek asked softly, and Stiles’ brain was slow to catch up.

 

Right. Play time after nap time.  It was a bit of a disappointment that the cookies wouldn’t be in his immediate future (assuming Peter agreed to them), but their special play time was always good too. And Derek’s hands gently cleaning him did help him switch gears. 

 

D erek probed him with a slippery finger as he so often did when diapering him. “Are you ready for Peter to open you up?” Derek asked as he rocked the single digit smoothly in and out of Stiles’ hole. 

 

Stiles blinked again. Right, the stretching was a thing they were doing as well. And as much as Stiles liked it in a general sense, he wasn’t so certain about Peter doing it. Derek was infinitely careful with him, but Peter could be a bit forceful. It wasn’t that he thought Peter would hurt him, but Peter would definitely push him, and most probably overwhelm him with sensation.

 

Stiles chewed his lip nervously and didn’t answer, and that drew Derek’s attention to Stiles’ face. “What are you so nervous about?”

 

Stiles shrugged awkwardly, uncertain how to explain. That Peter would go too fast? Not exactly. That Peter would hurt him? Definitely not. In fact, as he thought of Peter’s firm hands upon him his skin began to heat with arousal. Peter’s forcefulness was its own brand of sexy.

 

“Don’t worry,” Derek assured him as he pulled his teasing hands away. He slipped Stiles out of his onesie, exposing his skin to the chilly air, but he left the thick red socks. “Neither of us would ever, ever hurt you.” Derek scooped Stiles into his arms and held him close, rubbing one palm over Stiles arms and back to keep him warm. Then they made their way down the stairs.

 

When they got there, Peter was nude and erect and looking predatory as usual. The couch had been covered with towels as before and the enormous bottle of lube sat beside the wooden mystery box of toys. Stiles felt a thrill of anticipation.

 

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” Peter asked, his eyes alight with excitement. Stiles’ hesitance must have showed on his face, and for that matter in every line of his body as he shrunk in against Derek. But Derek simply set him on the couch with Peter in order to start stripping himself. “How many fingers do you think we can fit in your little hole today?” Peter asked.

 

“Uhm...” Stiles’ face heated up and bloomed into a vibrant red.

 

“You just lay back and relax,” Peter assured him, though Stiles found it anything but reassuring. Still, Derek settled on the couch as Peter had the day before, leaning Stiles back against him so that now Peter had unimpeded access to his hole. Though where Peter had held his legs up and wide the day before, Derek let Stiles’ legs splay more naturally and focused solely on comfort. He gave Stiles ample cuddles, soft touches, and pet his hair, and Stiles melted into a puddle in Derek’s arms.

 

T he first finger didn’t hurt as Peter slipped it effortlessly into him. Stiles’ eyes slipped closed instinctively as he let out a sigh of pure pleasure. God, maybe he was turning into a slut. He certainly couldn’t deny the overwhelming desire for more of that delicious stretch, for deeper penetration, now that it had begun. All thoughts of worries concerning what Peter would do to him flew out of his head. As Stiles wriggled to thrust back toward him, Peter chuckled a bit and obliged Stiles by slipping in a second finger. It was infinitely more satisfying and Stiles settled back to enjoy.

 

The sound of the lube was loud in his ears as Peter fucked his fingers into Stiles insistently. He scissored them now and then to stretch Stiles, but the force behind his thrusts wasn’t strictly necessary. It was clearly for pleasure alone, and Stiles couldn’t help the soft grunts he emitted in response. Every so often, Peter’s fingers would crook just right to drag along his prostate, and Stiles’ thighs began to tremble. And they’d only gotten to two fingers.

 

“Do you want another finger, darling?” Peter asked him silkily. Stiles wasn’t sure how to even answer that. He wanted to get off. Or at least be fucked in earnest. By a cock or a toy, it didn’t matter. The fingers couldn’t fill him properly, couldn’t reach in far enough. He whimpered helplessly.

 

“Ah-ah,” Peter admonished. “That’s hardly an answer. Tell me what you want, sweetheart. Do you want another finger?”

 

“Y-yes, Peter,” Stiles answered shakily, blushing furiously. He didn’t normally have to ask.

 

“What do you say?”  


“Please?” Stiles tried, hoping that the “magic word” remained the same as when he had actually been a child.

 

“Since you asked so nicely,” Peter answered indulgently, and then worked a third finger into Stiles’ hole. It took a few moments for him to adjust, but he’d done this just the day before, and as Peter worked him gently but determinedly he slowly accommodated the new stretch.

 

Stiles let out a low, wanton moan and flopped more bonelessly into Derek’s lap, as Derek continued to comb his fingers through his sweaty hair. Wait, sweaty? Had it gotten hot all of a sudden? He’d been cold all day and now he could have sworn the heat had been turned on.

 

“Do you remember our book about knotting?” Peter asked him.

 

How was Stiles supposed to answer that with three fingers working in and out of his ass? Was this really time for a lesson?

 

“Do you remember how big the drawings of a knot were?”

 

He did remember, but he still couldn’t be sure how realistic the drawings were. They’d been obscene, and more than a bit intimidating.

 

“Surely bigger than three fingers, wouldn’t you say?” Peter prompted him. “And the height of the full is on Saturday. You want to be able to take your Alpha’s knot, don’t you darling?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles grunted affirmatively when Peter thrust his fingers in just a bit too hard, obviously expecting some sort of response.

 

“Deep breaths,” Derek prompted him when Stiles’ breathing became a bit erratic. Stiles focused as closely as he could on Derek’s body pressing against him, surrounding him in safety. He tried to breathe along with him as best he could, but it was difficult when his breath wanted to hitch with every trust and twist inside of him.

 

Peter didn’t tell him about the fourth finger when it came, perhaps not wanting to panic him. There was just more pressure, more steady pushing, more gentle stretching as Peter was careful not to tear him. An absurd amount of lube, and the sense that whatever Peter was trying to fit in him would never, ever fit. But however forceful Peter had seemed before, with this he was infinitely patient and gentle. Coaxing. Stroking. Wriggling in millimeter by millimeter.

 

“I can’t, I can’t, Peter,” Stiles babbled, almost incoherent with sensation. His face was wet, and he didn’t know if it was all sweat, of if he’d actually leaked a few tears. He hadn’t even meant to speak at all, but somehow his brain had disconnected and the words had come pouring out.

 

“Of course you can.” Peter assured him with gentle authority. “Am I hurting you?” he asked, pausing in his motions for just a moment as Stiles collected himself. Of course, Peter would have known if he’d been hurting him. He’d have smelled it in Stiles’ scent. He’d have felt it through their skin to skin contact, if he’d tried to draw away any pain. But he let Stiles realize for himself that nothing was hurting.

 

Stiles took a few shuddering breaths. “N-no,” he answered unsteadily.

 

Peter gave another gentle thrust and twist of his fingers, now with four most of the way worked into Stiles. “What does it feel like? Tell me.”

 

“F-full,” Stiles answered. And he wanted to say more, but none of the words that came into his head made any sense. It felt bright, blinding. It felt like tart fruit tasted, acidic and sour on the back of his tongue. It felt like Peter’s hand wasn’t just in his ass, but like he was reaching somehow into every cell in his body.

 

“Shh, shh, shh,” Peter tried to soothe him. “We’re almost there.”

 

Stiles could feel Peter pressing, pressing, trying to get past the thickest part of his knuckles. What he didn’t know was that Peter had also tucked his thumb. They were moving straight past four fingers and onto five, a task Stiles would have thought impossible with so little anal experience. But they’d been working slowly and inexorably toward this moment.

 

It wouldn’t give. It wouldn’t fit. Stiles’ thighs trembled, and his hole spasmed once as if in protest. And then... suddenly everything wen t slack, and Peter slipped inside. It was almost too easy, but at the same time, Stiles felt as if he’d been ripped in two and his brain had completely shut off. Nothing so large had ever penetrated him before. In a distant way, his mind knew it was a fist: Peter’s fist. But the forefront of his mind couldn’t seem to form coherent thoughts.  _Sensation. Full. Good. More._

 

Inside of him, Peter held still for a long moment, then carefully folded his coned fingers into a fist, taking care not to scratch the delicate membranes or stretch Stiles too far and tear him. It was a delicate operation, but as insistent as he’d been he’d also taken infinite care. He wouldn’t harm someone who was his responsibility like Stiles was, someone so fragile and delicate and vulnerable in his hands. Or, he supposed, who his hand was now in.

 

Peter rocked his fist gently in one direction than another. In and out, side to side. He shifted it so he could press just so against Stiles’ prostate and Stiles let out a broken little sob. It didn’t take long then until his caged cock gave a twitch and began to blurt a steady stream of cum as Stiles’ hole tightened and fluttered around him.

 

Stiles’ orgasm, even with the cock cage, swept through him like a tidal wave and felt like it would never end. He let out a steady stream of moans and whimpers, twisting on Peter’s fist and trying to bury his face against Derek’s arm. Too much, too much.

 

Stiles was only distantly aware that his orgasm had stopped, Peter’s fist still resting within him, not moving quite yet as he caught his breath. Between his legs, there was still some sort of movement, then wetness. He cracked his eyes open in confusion and saw Peter’s free hand flying over his own hard cock, spurting his ejaculate over Stiles’ already messy crotch and his thighs.

 

Then Peter eased out of him, and it felt like he took half of Stiles’ intestines with him. He felt hollowed out, and it wasn’t exactly pleasant. There was a deep ache remaining in his guts. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it couldn’t be ignored. And the air against his gaping hole was unpleasant as it was vaguely concerning.

 

Derek shifted Stiles to the side a bit and Stiles moved bonelessly where he was positioned. Only moments later he felt the wet streaks of Derek’s own cum painting his chest. Apparently, watching Stiles be impaled by Peter’s fist was hot enough for both men that they didn’t take much to finish.

 

Stiles had to smile as his wolves rubbed their mess into his skin, as they’d done before. It was kind of gross, and he knew it would dry and flake and feel uncomfortable as hell. But it was endearing in a way. It solidified that yes, he lived with werewolves, not ordinary men, and they had their own quirks and rituals that he appreciated.

 

Only his diaper area was reluctantly cleaned so that he’d not get a rash, particularly where his skin was most delicate and easily irritated.

 

“Is there any pain?” Peter asked him softly, as he carefully cleaned some lube from around Stiles’ stretched rim.

 

“Sort of an ache inside,” Stiles admitted. “And my hole feels... weird.”

 

“It’ll close up again,” Peter assured him. “Give it some time. And the ache will fade as your body gets used to the new demands.”

 

Stiles shivered a bit at that. It implied that this wasn’t a one time thing that he’d recover from and get over. His body would _adjust_. It would be _regular_.

 

Peter taped on a new diaper, and Stiles did feel a little better now that the breeze wasn’t tickling his gape any longer. Behind him, Derek manoeuvred him up until he could slip his onesie back on, even as the cum decorating his skin was still tacky and drying. It would smear onto the inside of his clothing, but he supposed it didn’t matter at this point.

 

Peter cleaned and dressed himself next, and Stiles was set aside from Derek long enough that Derek could as well. He felt clingy and tired. He wanted one of them to hold him. “Are you ready to bake some cookies?” Derek asked him, the lilt in his voice obviously trying to perk him up.

 

Stiles didn’t answer aloud, though he did give a half smile. Cookies, right. He’d been looking forward to that. For now though, he lifted his arms in a silent plea for cuddles, and Derek scooped him up to haul him out into the kitchen. It wasn’t really a cuddle as he was immediately deposited in his chair, but Stiles clung for those precious moments in Derek’s arms.

 

Soon enough though, Stiles’ emotional state settled as Derek presented him with numerous welcome distractions. He was allowed to crack eggs (while supervised). To mix ingredients in a bowl, up to a point. Derek rolled out the cookies and set Stiles on the top of the table at one point to allow him easier access to decorate. Even Derek had to take a surreptitious glance around to make sure Peter wouldn’t see and yell at them. Stiles decided that Derek was definitely the fun parent.

 

It was freeing to be able to sprinkle on coloured sugar and other little things without having to think about it. He didn’t put much consideration into his “art”. He didn’t care what would look good, or if he was using too much sugar. He just reached for what appealed to him and went ahead with it.

 

And Derek, at the end, even let Stiles stick his finger into the bowl and eat a bit of the dough. Raw eggs and all. It was cloyingly sweet and just as he remembered cookie dough to be, though he couldn’t recall the last time he’d had any. It was perfect.

 

The scent of fresh cookies lured Peter out of wherever he’d retreated, having not wanted to deal with the mess. He scowled at Stiles on the table and gave Derek a look.

 

“He had to decorate,” Derek defended his decision, and Peter just rolled his eyes and transferred Stiles back to the safety of his high chair.

 

Peter surveyed the spread of cooling cookies, some of the fully cooled ones stacked in a little pile, as of yet not put into a container. He seemed to be giving ample attention to the decorations in making his choice, and Stiles felt a warmth blossom in his chest at the realization. The decorations could be the only significant consideration, as the flavours were all the same, the shapes uniform, and even the level of bake pretty much the same throughout. Something he’d done seemed to matter to Peter, something as insignificant as choosing colours.

 

Peter hummed with pleasure as he bit into the treat.

 

“Let’s let Stiles have one,” Derek cajoled.

 

“You’ve probably already filled him to the brim with dough,” Peter grumbled, though he did seem to be wavering. “Fine. Half a cookie, and _no more_. I don’t want you ruining his eating habits. They’ve been hard won enough as it is.”

 

Stiles’ eyes lit up and he shared an excited look with Derek. Half a cookie was more than no cookie, and on a diet of formula only, something so small was an enormous treat.

 

The cookie was a rush of sugar on Stiles’ tongue, and it made the over-sweet formula seem bland by comparison. He wondered vaguely whether consuming sweet so regularly was changing his tastes. He supposed he probably wouldn’t find out. It wasn’t as if Derek and Peter were going to test other foods on him for his reaction. He had no idea how he’d respond to broccoli, or steak, or curly fries. For now though, he had half a cookie, and he ate it slowly to savour the experience, letting the sugary confection melt and soften on his tongue.

 

“How are you feeling now?” Peter asked him as he ate. “Any discomfort?” He placed a hand against Stiles’ bare skin, clearly searching with his werewolf sense for signs of pain. And, Stiles realized, signs of chill. As chilly as the morning had been, he’d either adjusted to the temperature, or the oven had made up the difference, or perhaps it had finally warmed up a bit. At the very least, it looked like the rain had tapered off some time while they’d been baking and he could now see the faint glimmers of sun peeking through the clouds and into the windows.

 

But back to Peter’s question. Was there any discomfort? He’d been so distracted he’d forgotten entirely about the ache in his gut and the stretch in his hole. He wriggled a bit in his seat and clenched instinctively as he tried to determine whether anything hurt. “Not really,” he answered, and Peter seemed satisfied with that. Stiles, though, wondered at it. It had been, what, two hours? Was that really all it took for his body to recover from a man’s fist? And Peter didn’t exactly have small hands.

 

His skin itched a bit from the drying cum, but the rest of his body felt extremely relaxed and comfortable. It felt like a really good orgasm, or a really good fuck in general, but it was more satisfying than any of his previous sexual experience could account for. Before Stiles had entered into this lifestyle, he’d known that he’d craved the mindset of the child. That was the main appeal. But he’d had no idea that he was apparently some sort of size queen as well. All these years he could have had someone’s fist up his ass. What had he been doing with his life?

 

“That’s my good boy,” Peter praised him and leaned down to press a kiss onto the top of his head. “If you de-glaze him, I’ll read to him until supper,” Peter suggested to Derek, who rolled his eyes.

 

“He’s not that messy,” Derek defended.

 

“He’s got as much sugar on his hands as the cookies.”

 

Derek scooped Stiles out of his chair and for the second time that day he found himself seated on the counter beside the sink, being scrubbed to within an inch of his life. Bits of food dye stained his hands even after Derek had pronounced him clean, and apparently that was good enough for Peter when Derek handed him off.

 

After the activities of the afternoon, Stiles was exhausted in spite of his lack of exercise. He curled into Peter, finally getting the cuddles he’d craved before, and was content to listen to anything Peter wanted to read him. It turned out that Peter was feeling soft, and left off the educational books entirely, going straight for _Heidi_. And Stiles drifted as he listened, soaking in the affection.

 

“We’ll have to take him out tomorrow to make up for our lack of walk today,” Derek said, leaning against the door jamb.

 

Peter looked up, though Stiles blinked lazily and stuck his thumb in his mouth as he continued to snuggle against Peter’s warm body.

 

“Deaton’s coming in the morning sometime,” Peter said. “Maybe after that, or after his nap.”

 

Stiles perked up slightly as he listened. Deaton was coming? His mind felt sluggish, but he realized that tomorrow would be Friday, and he’d come home with Derek and Peter on a Friday. It would be his one week check in with the agency. Somehow, time had gotten away from him and it felt longer, as if he’d been living here for months already.

 

“At any rate,” Peter went on, “it doesn’t seem to have done him any harm.” He glanced significantly at Stiles. “I think someone is pretty tired from his busy day.”

 

“I’m just heating his formula now,” Derek said. “I should go finish up and I’ll bring it in here for you.”

 

Derek went back into the kitchen, and Peter set the book aside and simply carded his hands through Stiles’ hair as they waited. “Are you tired, sweet boy?” Peter asked him softly. Stiles snuffled and snuggled a bit closer into Peter’s chest, his eyes having fallen closed. “We’ll get you some supper. And a nice hot bath tonight. How does that sound?”

 

Stiles hummed contentedly. That did sound good. Warm milk, warm bath. Clean skin, with all the cum and paint and sugar washed away. It had been an eventful day for him. And then to bed. His exhaustion had somehow snuck up on him.

 

Peter rearranged Stiles in his arms, and it was only when Stiles felt the press of the bottle to his mouth that he realized Derek had come and gone. He must have drifted away a bit. He blinked up sleepily and began to contentedly suck. The half a cookie he’d had earlier, he realized, hadn’t ruined his appetite at all. Not when he was sleepy and warm and craved the comfort of this routine.

 

“You really are a good boy,” Peter told him softly, and Stiles felt his heart swell at the sincere praise. “I hope you feel safe and content with us. Loved. I must admit, I’m becoming rather attached, myself.”

 

It must have been talk of Deaton’s visit that had inspired such words in Peter, Stiles thought. He’d only known the man a short time, but it was long enough to realize such sentiments did not come from him often. Peter was better at showing his care, not speaking of it. It made his admission all the more precious.

 

Stiles mulled over the coming visitation while he drank. He knew what it was for. It was one of the things they’d gone over with him, and he could remember in a hazy way. First and foremost, the agency would check for any signs of abuse, both physical and mental. There were safeguards on top of safeguards at that place to ensure none of the littles came to any harm, and the home check was just another level of security in case somehow, someone had slipped through the cracks. On that account, Stiles had no worries.

 

Second of all, they would want to make sure Stiles was happy. He supposed he was, though happiness seemed like such a trite way to describe how he felt every day. He couldn’t say he’d been _happy_ when he’d struggled to soil himself. But on the whole he felt tremendously cared for. Safe. Even loved. It wasn’t something he was willing to give up.

 

From there, they’d ask whether he wanted to continue, or go back to the agency, or have a break. He wanted to continue of course. But the final answer, if he recalled correctly, did concern him. They’d ask if he was ready to sign over further rights to his guardians. Rights that concerned his medical decisions, and the belongings he had in storage.

 

Stiles finished his bottle and concentrated on filling his diaper while Peter waited patiently, rubbing his back. His mind was filled with worry over what he’d decide to do, and suppressed adult-thinking surfaced to try and clear his mind on the matter.

 

“Why are you so tense?” Peter’s voice broke through his cloudy thoughts. He continued rubbing Stiles’ back, though to try and help him relax.

 

Stiles buried his face against Peter’s neck and inhaled. He wasn’t a wolf, so his senses weren’t as keen, but he could still smell the faint smell of Peter, could feel him solidly around him. And he liked it. Craved the safety of his guardian’s arms. Stiles shoved the issue of tomorrow’s visitation aside, and let himself slip back into a softer mental space, his body finally relaxing enough to let his stool go.

 

He sighed with relief, though it did feel a bit weird with his hole still rather pliant from their activities earlier in the day. The slight ache was still there in his guts as well, and came to his notice as he relieved himself. It wasn’t painful though, but rather almost pleasant. Fucked out. When Stiles finished his business he wet as well, as Peter whisked him up the stairs to get him cleaned and changed.

 

“Tell me what’s going on in that mind of yours,” Peter prompted him as he unsnapped the onesie and rucked it up to Stiles’ stomach.

 

“Tomorrow,” Stiles answered softly. Vaguely. Though Peter seemed to figure out what he meant.

 

“You’re worried about the agency visit?” Peter asked as he worked.

 

Stiles only shrugged and cast his gaze to the side, his thumb gravitating to his mouth without conscious thought.

 

“You don’t have to worry,” Peter assured him. “Daddy and I will be here the whole time for you, in case you get overwhelmed. And you don’t have to make any decisions you’re not ready to make. No one will be upset with you no matter how it goes,” Peter told him, trying to cover all the bases of what might have Stiles so worked up.

 

And it did help. Stiles felt a tightness in his chest loosen a bit at the reassurance. Of course Peter and Derek wouldn’t abandon him to handle the visit alone. They _wanted_ to care for him. That was the beauty of the arrangement.

 

Peter’s slick finger prodded a bit at the entrance to Stiles’ hole. Stiles could tell that it wasn’t as tight as it had once been. Not yet at least.

 

“It seems like you’re recovering quickly,” Peter told him, sounding satisfied. Stiles was a bit dubious about that. It felt to him like he might never fully close up again, in spite of his understanding of the biology of it. But a bit of his worry did dissipate at Peter’s pronouncement.

 

Then Peter left him alone and did up his diaper and clothes once again, and they proceeded back down the stairs. He was a bit less sleepy than he had been during story time, not quite falling asleep where he sat, and was content to watch Derek and Peter finish the cooking while he sipped water from his cup.

 

Supper passed quietly, and the domesticity of the routine lulled Stiles into a haze of comfort. Peter didn’t make any further comments about Stiles’ fear of the agency visitation, and the other casual talk that Peter and Derek provided as a backdrop for the meal made Stiles feel at home. This was like a Hallmark family, he thought hazily. No drama, no stress. Just family gathered around the table.

 

Peter stayed to clean up the kitchen a bit while Derek hauled Stiles upstairs. Finally, it was time for his bath, and he was more than ready to get clean from the activities of the day. The hot water swirling around him as the tub filled felt amazing. He closed his eyes and sighed, letting the steam soak into him.

 

“You had quite a busy day,” Derek remarked. “Are you my sleepy boy?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles answered, more than ready for Derek’s gentle washing. At the moment he couldn’t remember how this had ever felt awkward in the slightest. Right now it felt perfect, as layers of itchy dried cum, sugar, and paint were washed off.

 

When Derek slipped a soapy finger into his bum Stiles wriggled uncomfortably. He was still stretched enough that Derek boldly pressed in two, fingering him squeaky clean as the water rushed uncomfortably in. “Daddy, no,” Stiles complained, gripping the side of the tub as he submitted to the prodding.

 

“Don’t fuss,” Derek scolded him gently, as always, as he plunged his fingers in a few more times. Stiles pouted, but it didn’t take long and he was perfectly fine. He settled back down more comfortably in the water when it was over.

 

~~~

 

Soon Stiles was out of the bath, clean and dry as Derek diapered and dressed him. By the time he was brushing his teeth, he felt his eyelids drooping again. He really had had a long day. Bedtime that night didn't come with any special story time. Just Derek laying him out in his crib, and Peter ducking his head into the room long enough to kiss his forehead goodnight. Even without a bedtime story, it felt special. Derek turned out the lights and left his door ajar as always, and Stiles listened to the sound of his guardians' retreating steps on the stairs. That he could have this at all felt like a miracle. That he could keep it if he wanted was astonishing. He was sure to have good dreams that night, he thought, as he drifted into sleep.

 


	11. Day 18, Friday

"Wake up, sweetheart." Stiles blinked awake as the lights flicked on, harsh in the pre-dawn gloom. The curtains were drawn open but the sun wasn't yet up to pierce through the dark. It was Derek, he realized, waking him up for the day. Had he slept in?

 

"Are you a sleepy boy this morning?" Derek asked him, voice still soft. It almost made up for the harsh lights. Stiles' thumb gravitated up to his mouth and he sucked on it gently, unwilling to move. He realized his bladder was full as always, and his eyes fluttered closed again as he wet.

 

Of course, Derek wasn't going to let him there. Not when it was time to wake up, and not now that he was clearly in need of a change. Stiles tried to snuggle against Derek, but Derek was all business that morning apparently. No rocking chair for him. Still, the changing table wasn't so bad. He got to lie down while Derek worked, and he felt clean and fresh.

 

Stiles waited hopefully as Derek’s lotioned finger slipped between his cheeks, but Derek only rubbed the pad of his finger against Stiles’ winking hole. As he pulled away, Stiles gave a disappointed whine.

 

“I know, sweetheart, but you’ll get plenty of attention later today,” Derek assured him. “Let’s go get you some breakfast, and then we’ll do some indoor activities for now.”

 

Clearly Derek didn’t want to upset him, but Stiles could hear what wasn’t said. They’d do something small and easy until the agency representatives showed up. He felt a sliver of anxiety slip in under his skin at the thought of it.

 

Of course Derek picked up on the change in his scent and the minute shift in his body language. He didn’t say anything about it, but Stiles thought Derek cuddled him a bit more affectionately on their way downstairs.

 

“Someone’s clingy today,” Peter remarked when they made their appearance, Stiles’ face buried against Derek’s neck. Peter meanwhile was busy cooking oatmeal of all things. Stiles couldn’t understand willingly consuming the stuff, and was glad for once that he had his bottle instead.

 

They settled at the table, and Peter had made up his bottle already so Stiles didn’t have to wait to eat. And feeling tired and a bit anxious as he was that morning, he was more than willing to curl up in Derek’s arms and drift off a bit, deferring starting his day as long as was possible.

 

After Stiles finished his food, Derek didn’t hold him hostage at the kitchen table either, but settled him on the rug with his toy boy and wolf figures to play, while Derek and Peter finished their breakfast in the kitchen. Groggy as he was, Stiles found it was actually fairly easy to slip into his headspace where adult worries didn’t concern him, as he made up little stories for himself and danced the toys across the floor.

 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there when he heard the car pulling up outside, heard the knock at the door. It was well after breakfast but Peter and Derek had only poked their head into the room now and then to note Stiles still playing contentedly. Still, it was fairly early in the day, and Stiles had thought he’d have more time.

 

In the distance, Derek and Peter were opening the door. Stiles froze on the floor with his toys all but forgotten as he felt his heart racing. “Doctor.” Peter’s voice carried through the house.

 

“Mister Hale,” Deaton greeted back. Stiles blinked. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever known Derek and Peter’s last name. It was strange to realize he’d been in such an intimate and vulnerable relationship with men he didn’t even know the full names of.

 

“This is my associate and sister, Ms. Marin Morell. She’ll be interviewing Stiles to assess his emotional well-being.”

 

“Of course.”

 

There were a flurry of names and greetings exchanged, chatter and small talk as the voices approached the living room.

 

“... in here playing at the moment,” Peter was telling them as they all entered.

 

Stiles looked up at Derek with wide, anxious eyes and lifted his arms in an entreaty to be picked up. Derek indulged him, scooping him into his arms immediately, toys forgotten on the floor.

 

“Hello, Stiles,” Deaton greeted him with a smile. Stiles cringed back in Derek’s arms shyly.

 

Deaton turned his gaze to Derek. “If you don’t mind, we’ll do the physical examination first, then move to the interviews.”

 

“Of course,” Derek agreed readily. “Is here okay?” he asked, nodding at the couch.

 

“Wherever you’ll be most comfortable,” Deaton agreed, and moved to set a large case on the coffee table, getting out his tools. Rubber gloves came first, reminding Stiles of how clinical and impersonal this sort of thing was. He’d always hated it. But Derek simply sat them both on the couch together, and quickly divested Stiles of both his onesie and his diaper. He felt vulnerable and exposed but was glad that Derek was in constant physical contact with him, and that Peter hadn’t left the room either. He wasn’t sure what to think either way about the new woman.

 

Deaton’s examination wasn’t really that of an ordinary physical exam. He wasn’t too concerned with blood pressure or heart rate this time around. Instead, Stiles was inspected for any physical marks, and he was poked, prodded, and pressed for signs of physical discomfort that might be hidden under the skin. Abuse, Stiles thought. He was looking for signs of abuse. And while he appreciated the failsafes, the idea that either Peter or Derek would have hurt him was so ludicrous that it was almost offensive.

 

“We’ll just take care of the internal exam now,” Deaton said, reaching for a tube of lube from his case. “Has Stiles been receiving regular penetration?” Deaton asked.

 

“Yes, daily,” Derek supplied. “We’re working him up to receiving Peter’s knot tomorrow on the full.”

 

“And he’s been taking the stretching well?” Deaton asked, then slipped a cold, slippery finger inside of Stiles. “No discomfort?”

 

“No,” Derek assured. “Stiles is a good boy.” He pressed a kiss to Stiles’ head. “Aren’t you, sweetheart? You love having something inside you.”

 

He did, normally, but the doctor’s clinical touch was uncomfortable as Deaton felt around for god knows what. Then Deaton dragged his finger along Stiles’ prostate, and Stiles gasped at the contact, back arching slightly for more.

 

“Has he been able to ejaculate since living here?”

 

“Yes, a few times now.”

 

“Do you mind if I empty him out? It’ll allow me to check on his prostate, and will probably make examining his cock a bit easier if he has less reason to become aroused.”

 

Derek flicked his gaze to Peter for approval. “That’ll be fine,” the Alpha answered.

 

Stiles’ breath came fast as Deaton worked him skilfully and relentlessly. He remembered Deaton doing this before at the facility, and it was just as clinical and strange now. Not arousing in the way that Derek and Peter were. It was slower, and less sharp of a sensation. But a sort of pressure built, and before he knew it his ejaculate was dripping out of his soft, caged cock as Deaton continued to _press, press, press_ inside of him until he had nothing left to give. He whimpered a bit in discomfort as the last of it was worked out of him.

 

Deaton seamlessly pulled his fingers out and reached for a wipe, cleaning the mess in a few deft swipes.

 

“Would you mind unlocking him, please?” Deaton asked, and Derek already had the key in hand. Soon, Stiles’ soft cock was on full display.

 

“Do you keep him caged all the time?”

 

“Except when we clean him, yes.”

 

“I can see some slight abrasions to the skin here,” Deaton told him, fondling Stiles. “Is he still having trouble keeping soft in his cage during sexual activities?”

 

“Sometimes,” Derek admitted. “But it’s been getting better. I don’t think it’s much of a problem anymore.” He looked to Peter for his opinion.

 

“He hasn’t the last few times,” Peter confirmed. “Is there a problem?”

 

“No, nothing too concerning. But it can’t be comfortable for him, and if it keeps happening he could hurt himself. If you want to be certain it doesn’t happen again you have a few options. First of all, I can see there’s been a bit of shrinkage since he’s first gotten his cage. That’s normal, and we could move him to a smaller, snugger model. For a lot of boys that’s enough to keep them from trying to erect.

 

“Another option would be to inject some kanima venom into his urethra. It’s temporary, so it’s reversible. But what it would do is twofold. First, it would keep him soft at all times, so you wouldn’t have to worry about a cage at all. And second, it would cause temporary incontinence, so that Stiles would have to wet himself whenever the urge hit him, including in his sleep. For some guardians, that’s a plus. I’m assuming he hasn’t wet unconsciously yet?”

 

“No, not yet,” Derek answered, looking to Peter for the rest.

 

“Wouldn’t he just hold it again once the venom wore off?” Peter asked.

 

“He might, but probably not. He might not erect again either, not without work. A week without would probably be enough to reset his subconscious. So while the physical effects would wear off, the mental effect is likely to stick unless you retrain the body.”

 

“It’s worth consideration,” Peter said. “Although I am a bit concerned about how his involuntary wetting might effect our play time.”

 

“While it’s possible he could wet himself at any time, that doesn’t mean he’ll always have to go,” Deaton pointed out. “Plus, a little pressure of your hand against his bladder beforehand should be enough to encourage him to release into his diaper if he has enough in his bladder. He simply won’t be able to consciously hold it.”

 

Stiles listened to the adults around him talking about making him incontinent, and felt a thrill of horror. That sounded terrifying, that level of loss of control. He wanted to curl further into Derek, but Derek simply held his legs gently open as Deaton continued to fondle him this way and that as he checked on things.

 

“If you’re interested in the kanima venom, there are other applications as well,” Deaton explained. “You could use it to help with bowel movements. Or a small injection into the tongue could prevent proper speech. None of it’s the least bit dangerous for him.”

 

“I think we’re doing alright on both those fronts,” Peter answered, much to Stiles’ relief. “He’s been able to use his diaper in the evenings for a bowel movement, after a little practice with the laxative and the suppository. He’s gone on his own the last few times. And we’ve been using his pacifier to help deter his big boy words.”

 

Said pacifier wasn’t in evidence now, though Deaton scowled a bit. “I hope not too often. If he uses it on a constant basis, that can shift the teeth, and I doubt you want to deal with orthodontia.”

 

“We’ve been weaning him off of it,” Derek assured, “now that he’s learned to be a quiet boy.” He pressed another kiss to the top of Stiles’ head for good measure. Well, that answered to him why the pacifier had gone missing more often as of late.

 

“It’s up to you.” Deaton shrugged as if he didn’t mind either way. “I’m just outlining options. Every little reacts differently, of course, but some can find it less stressful to have the power taken away. It can be easier to sink into a childlike mindspace without having to worry about using the diaper, or keeping quiet.”

 

“I’d like to see one of your smaller models of cage,” Peter said, dismissing the rest of the conversation for now, and Stiles’ racing heart calmed a little. A cage he could deal with. He’d gotten rather used to his own, and he wasn’t sure how it could possibly get smaller, but even a smaller cage was preferable to kanima venom.

 

“Of course,” Deaton said easily, and rummaged in his case. He pulled out a model that was so small Stiles could hardly believe it would fit.

 

But his cock was soft now, as soft as it could possibly be, after being milked so thoroughly. And he could admit it had seemed to shrink up to its smallest state after being caged so often. It wasn’t that he’d actually grown any smaller, but a man’s cock could grow quite small when cold, or in Stiles’ case, when caged for long enough. Deaton fitted the model around him, squishing Stiles’ cock into a cute little button, snug against the cage without causing any discomfort. Then it clipped into place around his balls just as the old one had.

 

Stiles gazed between his legs and blinked, not recognizing himself. He really did feel small in it. Tiny. Infinitesimal. There was just a little nubbin of metal between his legs, without the extra centimeters of room that would have allowed him to chub up uncomfortably before. Derek immediately reached down to cover the small package with his palm.

 

“It’s cute,” he said with a small smile. “Is that comfortable?” he asked Stiles.

 

“I-it’s okay,” Stiles answered shyly as his daddy fondled him.

 

“It’s _adorable,”_ Peter effused.

 

“Do something that would normally excite him,” Deaton suggested. “And we’ll see whether there’s any discomfort for him.”

 

Derek immediately reached up to rub the pads of his thumbs over Stiles’ sensitive nipples. Stiles gasped in a breath and closed his eyes as Derek flicked the hardening nubs with his nails, then began to pinch and twist at him, working him over. His whole body was flushed with arousal, but between his legs he only felt a bit of familiar heat, and no attempt at growth. Whether that was because he’d gotten used to remaining soft or because of the new hardware, he couldn’t say. But by the time his breath was quick and shallow and he was squirming against Derek, his cock was still entirely soft.

 

“Is there any discomfort?” Deaton asked him, pressing and pulling at his cock, balls, and the cage.

 

“N-no,” Stiles answered, voice quavering with need.

 

“Daddy, please?” Stiles asked, looking up at Derek helplessly. His hole itched terribly to be filled, even though he’d just been milked moments ago.

 

“Daddy will fist you later, baby, after nap time.”

 

Stiles blushed scarlet at Derek saying such filthy things, and with an audience. But Deaton simply gave a small smile, and then told Derek he could get Stiles dressed again so that he could go do his interview with Marin.

 

“How about I take Stiles into another room?” Marin suggested.

 

“That should be fine,” Peter answered. “Is the kitchen private enough, or would you like to take him up to his bedroom?”

 

Stiles looked to Peter with a bit of panic in his eyes. He’d thought that Peter and Derek would be with him throughout. But of course he’d have to be separated from them. If one of them were abusing him, he’d need privacy in order to seek help.

 

“That should be fine,” Marin answered easily. “Are you ready, Stiles?” she asked, reaching a hand out to take his own and walk him to the other room.

 

Stiles wasn’t really used to walking around his own home when one of his guardians could carry him. Which struck him suddenly as strange, now that he was reminded of what was normal.

 

“Go on,” Derek encouraged him. “We’ll be right here, Stiles. You can call out if you need one of us.”

 

Stiles took Marin’s hand and followed her into the kitchen. His legs felt shaky and his guts still twisted with unfulfilled arousal, but he tried to get his mind back enough to handle the interview. Marin pulled herself a seat at the table, and nodded toward an empty chair for Stiles.

 

He was a fully grown adult, he knew. He was large enough to simply sit down on the chair, and he did so. But it felt weird, and slightly unstable. He wasn’t strapped into his adult-sized high chair, and there was no tray acting as a barrier before him. Just empty space and instability. He swallowed nervously, and wanted his pacifier. His hand twitched, wanting to raise his thumb to his mouth, but he refrained.

 

“Hello, Stiles. I’m Marin,” she introduced herself formally, and gave what Stiles would have thought a warm smile if he’d still been at the agency. But now he was feeling shy and vulnerable.

 

“Hello,” he answered softly. Uncertain.

 

“As you know, I’m here to check on how things have been going since you’ve moved in with your new guardians. Tell me about some of the things you’ve been up to.”

 

Stiles blinked. That wasn’t the sort of question he’d been expecting, and he scrambled mentally to find an answer. “Uhm. Colouring. And stories....”

 

“Do you like colouring?”

 

Stiles remembered just what sorts of pictures he’d been colouring, and blushed. “Yes.”

 

“What else do you get up to? Just colouring and reading stories?”

 

“Yesterday Daddy and I painted some rocks and later we made cookies and Peter even let me have some.”

 

Marin grinned. “Really? Are you not usually allowed to have cookies?”

 

“No. Just my bottle.” Stiles twitched restlessly.

 

“Do you mind the bottle?”

 

“It’s okay.” He shrugged.

 

“What would you say is the least favourite thing you’ve done in the last week?” Marin changed tactics.

 

Stiles screwed up his face as he thought about it. Nothing had been particularly bad, and it took him a while to come up with a concrete answer. “I don’t like it when Uncle Peter uses a suppository on me,” he confessed.

 

“Does he do that often?”

 

“No. Just when I can’t go potty,” Stiles answered bashfully.

 

Marin marked something down in a notebook she’d produced from nowhere, and Stiles hoped it wasn’t something bad. He didn’t want to get anyone in trouble, and he didn’t want to be taken away. He bit his lip nervously, and glanced toward the door to the living room. He could still hear muffled voices as Doctor Deaton talked with Peter and Derek.

 

“That’s all right then,” Marin told him. “Do you have trouble going potty often?”

 

Stiles hesitated at first. “No. Just at first,” he said carefully. He’d been going on his own the past few times, and though it was still a bit of a mental struggle things were improving. He was pretty sure Peter was satisfied with his progress at least.

 

“I’m sure you try very hard to do as your guardians ask you,” Marin assured him, and he relaxed a little bit. He really did try. “Have you been a good boy for Peter and Derek?” Marin asked curiously.

 

“I think so,” Stiles answered simply, fussing with the fabric of his onesie. It was funny, his A.D.D hadn’t bothered him much since arriving here, but now he felt it rearing its ugly head. He wanted to move. He wanted to go back out to the living room and curl up on Derek.

 

“Have you ever been a bad boy?” Marin asked.

 

“Peter didn’t like it when I didn’t want my bottle once,” Stiles divulged. That had certainly stuck with him.

 

“What did Peter do then?”

 

“He told Daddy that if I didn’t like them more he wouldn’t let me have lunch,” Stiles admitted.

 

Marin raised a brow and made a note. “Did he keep you from lunch?”

 

“No. I did a better job,” Stiles assured her.

 

“I see. Have either Derek or Peter ever threatened you with some sort of consequences if you wouldn’t behave?”

 

“No.”

 

“Have either of them ever hurt you, or done something you really didn’t like?”

 

“Uh-uh,” Stiles denied.

 

“Let’s talk about the sex then,” Marin suggested, and Stiles blushed from his head to his toes, toes which curled as he squirmed in discomfort. “Do you like it when your guardians touch you that way?”

 

“Uh-huh,” he affirmed, casting his glance away.

 

“What do you like best?” Marin prompted.

 

Stiles whispered his answer. “When they put something inside.”

 

“Does your cock cage ever bother you?”

 

“Not really.” It had once, Stiles remembered, but he didn’t think on it much anymore. Now that Marin had called his attention to it, he could feel the new cage snug against his tiny cock now. It felt pressed close to him, but not too tight. It was sort of comfortable, actually. Just the smallest nub between his legs, nestled against his balls.

 

“Have you been having fun here this past week?”

 

“Uh-huh.” Stiles brightened considerably, relieved that the topic had veered away from sex.

 

“And do you think you’d like to stay?”

 

“Yes!” Stiles answered quickly, his heart picking up pace, afraid that someone might deny him. This was his home now. He didn’t want to be taken away.

 

“Alright, Stiles. That’s fine,” Marin assured him. “You can stay if you like. I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t continue on. But you have a big decision to make today. You can either go on as things have been, or you can sign over further rights to Peter. That would mean that if Peter wanted to use the kanima venom Doctor Deaton had talked about, he would be permitted to do so, regardless of your own opinion. Do you trust him to make that sort of decision on your behalf?”

 

Stiles felt his heart racing in his chest again. He’d gotten the impression that the kanima venom wasn’t going to be used, but now that he thought on it, Peter might not have actually said definitively. He really didn’t want it, didn’t like the idea of losing even more bodily control. But then he thought about the laxative and the suppository, and how Peter had taken that control from him only to help him cope. He _could_ trust the man to make the decision, but did he want to? Stiles felt the sting of tears building in his eyes and he sniffled.

 

“I don’t know,” he answered, feeling totally overwhelmed.

 

“What’s going on for you right now?” Marin tried to ask calmly.

 

“Daddy,” Stiles called, looking toward the living room. Derek was there with inhuman speed. Of course, he wasn’t human. He scowled at Morrell and scooped Stiles off the chair immediately to cuddle him close.

 

“What the hell have you been saying to him?” he demanded. “Shh. It’s alright, sweetheart.” He tried to calm Stiles as Stiles clung.

 

“We were just discussing whether or not Stiles wanted to cede some of his medical rights,” Marin explained. “The clauses about no permanent changes would still be in effect, of course. I think Stiles became a bit overwhelmed at the prospect that Peter could choose to put some of Doctor Deaton’s suggestions into effect.”

 

Then Stiles noticed Peter was there too, and Doctor Deaton as well. He’d caused a real ruckus, but he couldn’t stop crying now that he’d started. Everything felt tense and fragile and he wanted Derek to hold him tighter and for someone to make the decision go away or take it from him.

 

“Look at me, Stiles,” Peter commanded in a calm, level tone. Stiles lifted his head enough to peek up from Derek’s shoulder. “The decision is entirely up to you, and I won’t be upset with you either way. But I do want you to remember that I’d only ever want the best for you. You know that don’t you?”

 

“Y-yes,” he answered in a quavering voice.

 

“What has you so frightened, darling?”

 

“W-what if you want me to wet myself?” he asked, still blubbering, still clinging. “And I can’t hold it anymore?”

 

“What if I did?” Peter asked simply. “Would that be so bad, pumpkin? Your cock all nice and soft and floppy, even without your cage. You could use your diapers in your sleep instead of waiting until morning. Is that so frightening?”

 

“I don’t know....”

 

“What else?”

 

“W-what if --” Stiles hiccuped a little bit as he tried to regain control of his breath. “What if you put it in my tongue like the doctor said and then I can’t talk anymore at all?”

 

“You know what I think?” Peter asked him.

 

“Hm?”

 

“I think that my precious boy doesn’t make many big boy words anymore anyway. And you’d still be able to laugh, or cry. You’d still be able to give me those adorable whimpers when you’re writhing on my fingers.” Peter grinned wolfishly, and Stiles squirmed in Derek’s arms. “I would never take away your ability to communicate with me,” Peter promised. “But if it overwhelms you to have to use your words, or if it’s hard for you to hold them back -- that’s why the doctor has given us an option,” Peter explained.

 

Put like that, it did sound reasonable, Stiles thought.

 

“And before you ask, that goes for soiling yourself as well. It’s been a rough week for you so far, and I’m very proud of the progress you’ve made,” he assured Stiles, and Stiles felt warmth blossom in his chest at the praise. “But the last thing I want is for my precious boy to struggle or suffer. That’s why we have the option.”

 

“Now,” Peter continued. “I’m not going to tell you whether or not I plan to choose any of these procedures, and do you know why?”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because if you decide to cede some of your medical rights to me, it has to be because you trust me to make the right decision either way. Not because you think you know and will like the outcome. That’s the same as deciding on your own.”

 

Stiles felt the weight of the decision pressing down on him. Did he want to maintain control over his body? Did he want final say over whether those things happened? After all, he could make the decision to go through with or abstain from each option, based upon how he personally felt. But he wasn’t sure he could ever decide to go through with them, even if he needed them. It was all so confusing, and felt overwhelming.

 

And that was at the core of the issue. The adult decisions in life pressing in on him, suffocating him. His old life reared its ugly head as he recalled the crushing pressure of every day. Peter could take that from him. And then he wouldn’t have to worry. It was that simple.

 

Stiles’ crying had stopped and his breathing had slowed down as Derek rubbed his back and the party continued to wait for his decision. His breath still hitched now and then as he spoke. “I want to sign it,” he said.

 

“Are you certain --” Marin started to ask calmly, but Stiles interrupted.

 

“Yes,” he said definitively. “And the other one too. I know you’re going to ask about the clause concerning my belongings next.” He scrubbed tears off his face. “I want to sign it over.”

 

“If you’re certain,” Derek told him, holding his gaze for just a moment to be sure he believed Stiles. That Stiles wasn’t confused or pressured in any way.

 

Stiles nodded, and the pressure in the room began to dissipate. Derek didn’t leave him that time, however, and that was good as Stiles desperately needed to cling. Derek settled on the kitchen chair, Stiles in his lap, as everyone else sat down around the table and Marin produced the appropriate documents. Two signatures and the deed was done.

 

“Do you need anything else from us?” Derek asked Deaton and Morrell.

 

“I think that about does it on my end,” Morrell answered, glancing at her brother.

 

“Unless you’d like any of the medical interventions we’ve discussed, that’s it for me,” Deaton said.

 

“I think we’ll defer those for now,” Peter said easily, and Stiles felt a sense of relief in spite of his having trusted Peter with the decision. He didn’t want one more thing to cope with that day, and he felt stretched thin from the experience.

 

“I think we’ll go spend some time outdoors then,” Derek said, standing with Stiles still scooped in his arms. Stiles’ thumb gravitated into his mouth as he sucked it for comfort, and he was glad no one stopped him. It was bad enough that they were trying to control his use of the pacifier.

 

“We can get a little fresh air before lunch. How does that sound?” he asked Stiles, though Stiles just clung, not feeling up to a verbal response. Derek didn’t seem to need one, as he said some last farewells and retreated with Stiles out the back door.

 

There, Stiles immediately breathed a little easier. It was late in the morning by then and the sun was shining cheerfully in the forest. Everything smelled clean and earthy, and the outdoors was far less oppressive than the house filled with strangers. He perked up a bit and watched where they were going, further off the property and toward what he thought was the direction of the stream.

 

“You ready to walk yourself?” Derek prompted him after a little while.

 

“Okay,” Stiles answered quietly, pulling a rather wet thumb from his mouth. He let Derek set him down and he followed with careful steps on his bare feet. Their progress was slow, but since they weren’t trying to accomplish anything in particular, slow was fine.

 

It felt like it had been forever since he’d been outdoors, even though he’d been out just the day before last. He marvelled at how quickly he’d adjusted to life on the Preserve. In his old life, he wasn’t sure he’d ever properly been in nature, and he only saw the facsimile of it once every two or three years, when he’d take a hike in whatever passed for woods in the human occupied areas. This, though, _this_ was a forest. The trees rising all around him. Birdsong and running water. The earth and leaves beneath his feet.

 

“I’m really proud of you today,” Derek told him as they walked. Stiles looked up at him in surprise. “You did a good job,” Derek assured him. “You were a good boy when the doctor was checking you, and you spoke your mind when you had some concerns with the paperwork.” Derek squeezed the hand he was holding as they walked. “You’re my perfect boy. And I promise Peter and I will take care of you. You don’t have to worry about it.”

 

“I trust you,” Stiles answered simply, and left it at that. It was just that simple for him, at least at the moment.

 

~~~

 

By the time they were back home for lunch, Stiles felt much better both physically and emotionally. The exercise and fresh air and sunlight had done wonders, especially after being cooped inside the whole of the day before. He entered with Derek a bit hesitantly, but there was no sign of strangers. The house was comfortably empty but for Peter, and the scent of grilled sandwiches filled the kitchen where Peter stood cooking.

 

“There you are,” Peter commented when they entered. “I had thought I’d have to send out a search party.”

 

Derek plopped Stiles on the counter by the sink and began to wipe his hands and feet off with a damp cloth. Peter meanwhile began to heat Stiles’ formula he’d already mostly prepared, just waiting for their return.

 

Derek snorted at Peter’s statement. “As if you couldn’t tell exactly where we were.”

 

“I could find you, but that doesn’t mean I had the slightest idea what was taking you so long.”

 

Peter handed off the bottle when it was ready, and Derek settled down with Stiles. The kitchen table that had felt so daunting hours before was now back to its innocuous, normal state. He was safe in Derek’s grasp and no strangers were here. The house was quiet, and their routine had been re-established. Stiles relaxed as he drank, and felt the lassitude that often followed lunch, especially after such a stressful morning.

 

He’d barely finished when he was already starting to drift off. And he trusted Derek to haul him upstairs, and settle him into his crib. All Stiles had to think of was sleep.

 

~~~

 

Stiles blinked awake. The room was dim and quiet, but he felt refreshed so he knew that nap time must soon be over. The pressure in his bladder demanded release, and he took a moment to be grateful it was still his choice to wet himself before he let go. Although his new cock cage was similar to his previous cage, he could immediately feel the difference as he wet. His penis was squished more closely to his body, and he felt the urine flow close to the skin before it soaked into his diaper. It was new, but not unpleasant. He wriggled a bit, and felt the way the cage hugged him. It felt snug. Secure. But not uncomfortable.

 

“Are you awake, darling?” Peter asked softly as he came into the room. He opened the curtains and let the sunlight flood in, then scooped Stiles out of his crib.

 

Stiles clung without conscious thought. He still felt a bit fragile from the visitation that morning.

 

Peter sighed affectionately. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up,” he suggested, and pried Stiles off of him gently to lay him out on the changing table. “We’ll get our cuddles in when we go downstairs,” Peter assured him.

 

Peter untaped the diaper, exposing Stiles’ new cage. He wiped around the area, then went to remove the cage to clean him more fully. But first, he pressed his fingers against it, moving Stiles’ little cock a few millimeters in this direction and that. “Are you still comfortable in your new cage?” he checked.

 

“It’s okay,” Stiles answered shyly. It was still strange to acknowledge his chastity, or really acknowledge head-on anything he was doing here, in this new lifestyle.

 

“You let me know if there’s any discomfort,” Peter told him, then deftly removed the cage to clean him up. His cock felt particularly small in Peter’s hands after being limp and squished into such a small space. Stiles could feel himself slipping more deeply into his little mindspace as he thought about it.

 

Soon the cage was snugged into place once more, pressing against him and feeling secure. It was like a switch was flipped in his brain. It was time to ignore his cock, and move all his concentration to his hole. It suddenly had a certain kind of itch, a desperate need to be stretched and filled.

 

Stiles gave a soft grunt when Peter did just that, one lotioned finger pressing into him. It was so easy now to consciously relax and accept the intrusion. And he wanted more.

 

“Good boy,” Peter praised his easy entry.

 

Although Peter’s finger had penetrated him easily enough, it was only then that Stiles consciously realized that his hole had fully recovered from the day before. When had that happened? He couldn’t recall any discomfort that morning, or any strange feelings back there. In a matter of hours, his hole had recovered from Peter’s entire fist. How was it possible? He knew that of course it was supposed to work like that, and yet the experience of it boggled the mind.

 

Peter pressed two fingers into Stiles’ loosening hole and Stiles sighed at the stretch. There was a time when two fingers had seemed like enough to get him off, but now it was almost relaxing, a tease. A taste of what was hopefully to come. He wanted to be fucked more deeply. Split widely.

 

“Come on,” Peter told him, pulling his fingers free and wiping his hand. “Let’s get you down to your daddy. He’ll fill you up.” Peter shucked Stiles’ onesie the rest of the way off, and scooped him up to haul him downstairs.

 

~~~

 

Derek was in the usual place on the couch, waiting for them. Though he was naked, this was clearly about Stiles just as it had been the two days before. The dauntingly large bottle of lube was in evidence, as well as an abundance of towels. Peter wasted no time in divesting himself of clothes as well, then settled them into the familiar position that had begun these stretching exercises two days before.

 

Stiles felt exposed in the best way as Peter pulled his legs wide for Derek. The first finger had Stiles’ eyes falling closed, the second finger elicited a soft moan, a comfortable sigh. Hell yes. He lived for this part of the day. And especially all groggy and loose-limbed from sleep, it was perfect.

 

“Do you like that, sweetheart?” Derek asked him with a smile.

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles confirmed a bit breathlessly. Derek squeezed in a third finger, and Stiles could really feel the stretch.

 

One of Peter’s hands came up and he pressed a finger into Stiles’ mouth. That was new, but not unwelcome, as Stiles instinctively began to suckle on the digit, staring up at Peter’s face above him. A second finger pressed in, rubbing his palate. He hummed contentedly and sucked as Peter fucked the digits into his mouth.

 

“Do you want to try a new toy today, darling?” Peter asked, and Stiles looked at him curiously, fingers still pressed into his mouth.

 

Peter pulled them away and wiped them briefly on a towel before he reached for the toy box. He didn’t have to rummage much before he pulled out a phallic gag. The length and girth of it weren’t too frightening, though the imagery of the thing was obvious. There were, however, intimidating straps attached to it that would hold it in place on his head. Stiles looked at it a bit dubiously.

 

“Open,” Peter instructed him, and though he was nervous he didn’t even have to think about dropping his jaw open to receive it. At his other end, Derek continued to steadily fuck three fingers in and out of his hole, stretching him incrementally to prepare him for a fourth.

 

Peter pressed the plasticky toy into Stiles’ mouth fully. His jaw stretched wide around it and he felt it pressing against his tongue, back toward the back of his throat but without triggering his gag reflex. It was like sucking cock, but easier. It made him feel uninhibited to have his moans and cries muffled, and sexy as he was used from both ends. But still he was a bit worried over what he’d do if he needed to say something. Peter latched the straps into place, and seemed to notice the up-tick in his heart-rate.

 

“If you need to communicate something, just give me a tap,” he said calmly. “We’ll stop what we’re doing and find out what you need. But for now, relax.” Peter combed his fingers through Stiles’ hair, and Stiles’ eyes fluttered closed again as he breathed through his nose, instinctively sucking on the plastic cock lodged in his mouth.

 

He let out a low groan as he felt Derek’s fourth finger widening him some time later. Stiles’ thighs trembled and he was grateful for Peter’s grasp and strategic pillows keeping him spread wide. He’d lost all muscle control of his own some time ago. The sounds of lube slopping in and out of him were obscene, and he could only imagine what he must look like. Totally debauched, like something out of a porn. Like something out of his colouring book.

 

Stiles’ eyes watered. Or was that sweat? Tears? He let out a muffled, broken sob as the widest part of Derek’s knuckles passed his rim. He’d thought perhaps Derek wouldn’t fist him as Peter had. That he’d use a toy on him instead, as he’d done the first day. Derek was always so careful of him. But Peter had shown the day before what Stiles was capable of, and apparently there was no going back. Especially not with the coming full moon to worry about, and consequent knotting.

 

Peter shushed him and wiped the tears away as Derek pressed carefully but firmly forward. And then he was in. Stiles’ hole fluttered closed around Derek’s wrist, and he could feel the now familiar sensation of Derek’s fingers closing into a fist from the cone that had entered him. It was too much, he was too full. Split open. Transcendent.

 

His cock was so diminished between his legs that he hardly noticed the spreading wetness as his hole contracted rhythmically around Derek. Stiles writhed as much as he was able, twitching and coming endlessly. He tossed his head from side to side, overwhelmed with the sensation as his cum leaked from his caged little cock, and Peter gently rested his hand against Stiles’ throat to still him.

 

His breaths came laboured through his nose as he tried to calm himself, Derek’s fist still lodged inside of him but unmoving as he came back from his orgasm. Derek’s free hand gently stroked his inner thigh until his breathing was a bit more controlled.

 

“Are you alright?” Derek asked him carefully.

 

Stiles felt his world spinning, and tried to do a mental assessment to answer. He gave a shaky nod. He was alright. It was a lot, but he was okay.

 

Gently, Derek pressed his fist in a bit more deeply, and Stiles trembled and let out a tortured moan. He’d thought Derek would pull out now that he’d come, but apparently they weren’t finished yet. Stiles felt the fist stirring in his guts, stretching parts of him that had never before been stretched.

 

A centimeter in, a centimeter out. Derek, even in this, could be said to be careful, gentle even. Stiles let out a continual stream of whimpers and whines, though he never once tried to tap Peter for his attention. He didn’t want it to stop, but he didn’t know how much more he could take. Gently, Derek fucked his fist into him, and wrist and forearm started to disappear into his body incrementally as well.

 

“You’re such a good boy,” Peter praised him continually. “Does that feel nice? Do you like having Daddy’s fist inside of you?” Peter took one of Stiles’ hands and placed it flat against his own stomach, where he could feel the writhing mass inside. Deeper than he’d thought anatomically possible. “Feel how greedy your hole is, sweetheart? How far your daddy is able to fuck into you?”

 

Stiles let out a little whine at the sensation of it, totally overwhelmed. It seemed to go on endlessly, and he didn’t know how much more they wanted to accomplish. He had nothing left to give. And then he felt it, something building inside of him. A pressure, not unlike his earlier orgasm, though it felt different. More full bodied, and starting at the tips of his toes. A tingle and heat travelling the length of him until he didn’t think he could contain it anymore, and then his body seized in a second orgasm. Whether he spilled some small amount of ejaculate or came dry he couldn’t tell, but the second orgasm was even more overwhelming and consuming than the first had been. And this time, half of Derek’s forearm was inside of him and he continued to gently rock in and out of Stiles’ overworked body as he tensed and came.

 

The the immediately following his orgasm was a blur. Derek pulling out. His hole, his entire body, feeling hollowed out. Peter’s continual praise. Derek’s continual praise. The both of them petting him as he let his eyes drift shut, completely exhausted.

 

Derek and Peter finished themselves as they had the day before, painting him with their seed and massaging it into his pores. He simply drifted, feeling warm and good and almost high as he recovered.

 

While his eyes were closed and he laid lax on the towels, Stiles felt someone remove his cage and wipe clean his crotch. Then gently wipe around his gaping hole. He gasped a bit at that around the gag still in his mouth, and gave it a suck. Then someone undid the straps of the gag and pulled it loose from his aching jaw. Peter, it had to be. He was still curled against Peter’s lap. He turned when Peter nudged him, and found his face nuzzled against Peter’s crotch. His half-hard cock pressed into Stiles’ open lips, still coated in cum and tasting salty. He suckled on it without hesitation, enjoying the way the spongy flesh filled his mouth.

 

Behind him, Derek finished cleaning. Then he felt the cock cage click back into place. A diaper was taped onto him though they left him without a onesie for now as he suckled and drifted, Peter petting his hair. Distantly, he was aware of Derek cleaning himself and dressing. Of the toys and lube and towels being gathered away.

 

Finally, an eternity later he was nudged away from Peter’s limp cock. He wondered whether he’d actually dozed. Now that his faculties were returning to him, he felt embarrassment creep over him at what he’d been doing, but Peter didn’t seem to mind. Of course, it had been at his urging.

 

“Come on, darling. Time to get up. We don’t want to ruin your sleep schedule. Can you sit up for me?” he asked, and helped Stiles move into a sitting position as Peter slipped out from behind him. Peter wiped himself off cursorily before hastily throwing on his clothes again while Stiles waited, suddenly very aware of his aching hole and aching guts. But it wasn’t a painful feeling. It felt _good_. He vaguely wondered whether that should disturb him. His thoughts scattered though when Peter pulled the onesie over his head and manoeuvred him to snap it into place between his legs.

 

Derek was nowhere in sight, and Stiles wondered what had become of him, and how long he’d been unaware of his surroundings.

 

“Let’s go swing for a while,” Peter suggested. “I expect you’re too tired to walk again, but the fresh air might perk you up.”

 

“Okay,” Stiles answered with a small smile, lifting his arms immediately to be scooped up by Peter. Swinging sounded amazing, and Peter was great at pushing.

 

~~~

 

They swung for some time, and Stiles came in breathless and exhilarated. It was only when he entered the house with Peter that he realized they’d come in because Derek had just come home. Apparently he’d left entirely, and that answered Stiles’ question of where Derek had gone. Now he’d returned, laden with bags of groceries to put away. Stiles watched the proceedings from the safety of his high chair, glad that he didn’t have to use the regular chairs again like he had just that morning. So much had happened since then, the memory was already fading into a hazy “before”.

 

Stiles was handed a sippy cup of water to work on while Peter and Derek put things away. Only then did it occur to Stiles, he’d really been here a week. It was simultaneously an incredibly long time, and almost no time at all. It didn’t seem real, but he couldn’t decide in which direction it was unbelievable to him.

 

He did feel in some way like he’d been here forever. The domestic scene before him was familiar and comforting, and his place in the family felt safe and secure. He sipped at his water and felt the gentle ache in his hole as he sat on the hard wooden chair.

 

Once the groceries were away, Peter offered to start supper while Derek spent time with Stiles in the living room. That was how Stiles found himself on the rug again with colouring book and crayons spread out in front of him, his sippy cup set to the side. Derek watched over from his perch on the couch while he read.

 

Stiles flipped through the pornographic tableaus with less discomfort and more curiosity than before. Which act should he colour today? He paged through consideringly, and then selected one with the boy over his daddy’s knee, bottom in the air as he got a spanking. His face was twisted to a grimace and streaked with tears, but Stiles wondered exactly what kind of sobbing it was. After all, he was pretty certain his own face had been streaked with tears hours earlier, and he definitely wasn’t in pain. He was becoming savvy to this book.

 

Stiles worked quietly for some time, and he almost forgot that Derek was behind him on the couch, keeping an eye on him. he chose this colour and that, though after he coloured the boy’s skin a fair peach like his own, he chose out the red crayon to give a delightful blush to his upturned cheeks.

 

“What are you colouring there?” Derek asked, startling Stiles out of his head and back into the present.

 

He felt himself blush. “Uhm...”

 

Derek sat on the floor beside him, back against the couch. “Who is this little boy?” he asked curiously, pointing.

 

“Me,” Stiles answered shyly. This game always made him squirm. Of course it was him. It was always him.

 

“And who’s that spanking him?” Derek asked.

 

With Derek there, he might normally say it was Daddy, but that wasn’t the truth. No, Derek was the nicer of the two. If anyone was going to spank Stiles, it was Peter. “Uncle Peter,” he answered honestly.

 

Derek raised a brow curiously. “Oh really?”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“And what did this little boy do to deserve a spanking?” he asked curiously.

 

At their house, they didn’t actually do spankings as far as Stiles knew. And he preferred it that way. If he were actually in trouble, it would just unsettle him. He shrugged uncomfortably, uncertain why he’d really chosen the picture.

 

“Is he a good boy or a bad boy?” Derek tried.

 

The novelty of the idea washed through Stiles and he immediately latched onto it. Yes. “Good boy,” Stiles answered with a smile.

 

“Ah, I see. Is he getting a good boy spanking as a reward?”

 

“Uh-huh.” Stiles felt himself flush all over at the thought of it. He’d definitely played around with spankings before in the bedroom. But the idea of Peter doing it, and in this new context, had distinct appeal.

 

“I’ll bet Peter would be into that idea,” Derek said wryly.

 

“I’d be into what idea?” Peter asked, coming into the room from the kitchen at just the right moment. He moved over to Derek and Stiles to see what the two of them were looking at. When he saw the picture, a wolfish grin broke across his face.

 

“I think our Stiles is interested in good boy spankings,” Derek told him. How he could keep such a level voice when saying something like that, Stiles didn’t know.

 

“Oh really?” Peter asked, intrigued. “Would you like that, darling?”

 

Stiles squirmed. “Uh-huh,” he confirmed, in the quietest voice possible. But of course Peter’s werewolf hearing didn’t have any trouble at all picking the words out. Stiles kept his gaze on the colouring book, and forced himself to keep colouring so that he wouldn’t have to look up and see the predatory look in Peter’s eyes.

 

“Would you like me to give you a nice rosy bottom?” he went on. “Maybe before I make you ride me so that you can feel the sting every time you press down to my lap. Or maybe you want to feel the warmth of it when you’re in your chair. Or maybe...” he paused, his voice silky and his tone knowing, “you want to have to sleep on your stomach because your little bottom is so hot and sore.”

 

Stiles’ heart raced in his chest and he could feel himself growing dizzy with arousal at the potential. God, Peter was so _filthy_. And he probably could never get enough of it. He would wonder what was wrong with him, but in this household apparently nothing was wrong at all. He was certainly in good company.

 

“Go back to the kitchen.” Derek shooed Peter away. “You’re working him up again.”

 

Peter chuckled but relented, his eyes still sparkling with mischief. “Oh, very well. I’ll leave him be. _For now_.”

 

When Peter’s teasing had ceased, Stiles was able to get his mind back together a bit and get back down to the business of colouring. However, a pornographic colouring book was hardly the sort of content to get his mind out of the gutter.

 

He didn’t quite finish colouring his picture by the time Peter returned, this time with bottle in hand. It was definitely a difference in routine for Derek to give him his evening meal, and though Stiles didn’t mind Derek feeding him, he did wonder whether it would be weird to soil himself in front of Derek as well.

 

Once he was drinking, he realized how hungry he really was. Apparently, being fisted and then going for a swing really worked up an appetite. As always, though, the specially crafted formula somehow managed to satiate him, filling his belly with warmth and nourishment as he felt himself relax and drift in the experience, cradled in his daddy’s arms.

 

Wetting himself was easiest and he hardly had to think about it before he let go, while still finishing his bottle. By the time he’d finished his supper and Derek moved him to sit up, the familiar pressure in his bowels reminded him that this was when he’d normally do his number two. He took a breath, relaxed, and pushed, all the while ignoring or not caring that he was still in Derek’s arms. The more time that passed for him, the less such a detail seemed important.

 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Derek suggested, already hauling him up and toward the stairs.

 

That sounded perfect to Stiles. It was so easy to let go when he knew he’d be taken care of.

 

Upstairs, Derek cleaned him efficiently, whisking away the mess. He took his time lotioning Stiles then, as if to make up for his cursory job that morning. He tugged and rolled Stiles’ balls, so often ignored entirely. Stiles moaned at the feel of it and felt his spine and legs turn to jelly as they fell further open. Derek pulled a slippery hand over his flaccid cock and Stiles hummed with pleasure, wriggling a bit in place. With his cock locked away so often, the touch felt incredible.

 

“Look at how cute and small you are,” Derek enthused,and Stiles blushed.

 

But of course, with his even smaller cage, Derek didn’t linger. Instead, he squished him back into place and locked the cage on his tiny cocklette. “There you are.” He pressed his palm against the caged nub. “Nice and safe.” Derek’s slippery fingers slipped between his cheeks then and only teased his still sensitive hole around the edge.

 

Stiles didn’t blame Derek for not fingering him, considering what had just come out of there. But he _did_ wish for something to be inside of him. He couldn’t believe how greedy he’d become. It took almost nothing to get his mind on his hole, and something filling him. If Peter were here, he suspected Peter would finger him with one of the wipes. It was uncomfortable, but sort of sexy in that rough way Peter had about him. But of course, Derek being the more sensitive of the two didn’t push him now. At any rate, there would be time for that at bath time.

 

Soon enough, Stiles found himself re-diapered and re-dressed, being carried down to the kitchen to sit in his chair. The colouring book and page he’d still be working on were left forgotten on the rug to be whisked away as if by magic when Stiles wasn’t looking.

 

He sipped at his water as Peter finished plating the food, and listened to them talk of various comfortable nothings while they ate. It was comfort and family, and better even than most of the memories he retained of his own childhood. It sparked the feeling of some distant notion of how things had been when he’d still had his mother, but that had been such a long time ago.

 

“Are you alright staying in tonight?” Peter was asking. “One of us should stay behind and I want to run the perimeter.”

 

“I should be fine,” Derek said quickly, though he flexed a hand as if agitated.

 

That was right, Stiles remembered. Tomorrow would be the height of the full moon, but a full moon lasted three days. His curiosity was piqued and he watched his guardians more closely for signs they might be shifting or losing their control. But to his eye, they still just looked like Derek and Peter, totally normal. Then again, it was still early in the evening.

 

“Derek --” Peter started.

 

“I’m fine, Peter,” Derek reiterated. “You’re the Alpha. You should go. I’ll go Sunday.”

 

Peter nodded and went back to his food, the subject apparently dropped. Stiles, though, continued to think about it. He wondered what would happen to the two of them while he was asleep that night. What was their normal routine? If he woke up in the night, would Derek have shifted, or was it completely a voluntary action? And what had been their routine before Stiles had arrived in their lives? It sounded as if they were both accustomed to some sort of midnight run. He hoped that he wasn’t inconveniencing them somehow. That familiar guilt threatened to creep in, the guilt of being a burden. But no, he reminded himself. Peter and Derek had _wanted_ him, had gone out of their way to get him. And neither of them seemed the least bit annoyed right now.

 

The meal finished, Derek hauled Stiles upstairs as usual for his bath, a time he was beginning to really look forward to. He played with his duck, hopping it along the rim of the tub as he sat in the dry, cold porcelain while Derek worked a thin layer of depilatory cream over all of his skin. This had happened just a week ago, he recalled, though it seemed more than that. And the first treatment had been effective enough that Stiles hadn’t really noticed any regrowth, but apparently there was enough that Derek thought it prudent to treat him again. He waited it out as patiently as he could as it itched and tingled at his smooth skin, and he realized he didn’t have a care in the world about it. Actually, he preferred it this way. He felt younger, cleaner, freer.

 

Soon enough, Derek rinsed him off, then began to fill the tub with hot water for his actual cleaning. It swirled up around his uncaged cock and he felt the lick of the water against his newly smoothed skin. It felt delicious, and he almost thought his cock perked up at the sensation as well.

 

Derek distracted him from such musings by washing his hair, careful to keep the soap from his eyes. By the time he’d finished rinsing it, the tub had filled. Derek shut the water off, then began to work a soapy cloth over every inch of his body. Stiles revelled in how thorough Derek was. It felt wonderful to have someone pay such close attention to every part of him.

 

The last bit was the soapy finger in his hole. Stiles leaned up against the rim of the tub, legs splayed out and ass raised a bit to give Derek room. He moaned at the penetration, even with the sting of soap and improper lubrication. His hole still felt pliant from the fisting and he felt needy, as if he could never get enough of this feeling.

 

“You’re being such a good boy for Daddy tonight,” Derek remarked, noting that often Stiles would pout during his cleaning. “Do you like it when Daddy cleans your hole?” he asked, squeezing a second finger in and fucking them as deeply as the angle would allow. He scissored them open a bit and let the water rush in and Stiles shuddered.

 

“Yes, Daddy,” Stiles answered breathlessly.

 

Derek, much to Stiles disappointment, pulled his fingers away. “Maybe some day Daddy will give you an enema,” he suggested. “But we can’t do those too often; they’re not so healthy. Come on, now. Let’s get you dried off.” He started to drain the tub and pulled Stiles out to stand on the bath mat while he rubbed him with a towel.

 

Stiles’ cock, so often quiescent these days, had chubbed to a half erect state from the sexual attention and his aroused mood. He marvelled at the weight and size of it between his legs as he took notice. After the cock cage, it seemed enormous to him, even though he wasn’t even fully erect, and had only ever been considered average.

 

“Hmm,” Derek hummed as he noticed it as well. He hung Stiles’ towel and grabbed his wash cloth from the edge of the tub. “We’ll have to get rid of that, won’t we?” he commented casually, as if it weren’t such a big deal. Stiles watched curiously and with some slight dread as he saw Derek wet the cloth with cold water at the sink. He could see where this was going.

 

“Deep breath,” Derek warned him, then gently pressed the cloth to Stiles’ crotch. Stiles gasped at the icy cold pressed right where he most didn’t want it. He instinctively flinched to get away, but Derek’s hands were gentle but firm, one holding the back of his ass to keep him in place and the other pressing that cold cloth relentlessly between his legs.

 

Stiles whimpered and after a moment Derek pulled the cloth away. It wasn’t as cold as the ice had been that once, and while Stiles had shrunk considerably he unfortunately wasn’t yet minuscule enough to fit in his newly fitted cage. Stiles watched helplessly as Derek moved back to the sink to re-wet the cloth.

 

“No, Daddy, please --” he pleaded, but Derek was already pressing the cloth against him again.

 

Stiles hissed and tried ineffectually to get away. “Don’t fuss,” Derek scolded gently. When he pulled the cloth away that second time, Stiles’ cock had reverted to its smallest state. Derek wiped away the moisture with a towel and then laid Stiles out on the floor to attach the cage.

 

“There now. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Derek prompted him, but Stiles was busy pouting and giving Derek the silent treatment.

 

“Come on. Where’s that smile I love?” Derek asked him. He slipped a lotioned finger into Stiles’ hole and Stiles sighed and relaxed, feeling better already. He let out a soft moan at the gentle finger fucking. “There’s my boy,” Derek said affectionately, pulling his finger away to finish diapering Stiles. Then he put him into his night clothes and had him brush his teeth, and the incident was already forgotten.

 

As Stiles curled up in his bed that night around his bunny, he felt replete and sleepy. It had been a long, full day, and he couldn’t wait for the next one.

 


	12. Day 19, Saturday

Stiles awoke and immediately wet. It was almost becoming instinctive now, as the rest of him was barely aware of his surroundings. It was dark still, and pre-dawn. The room was quiet. He strained to listen for Derek or Peter, wondering if they were up yet, and as he came back to awareness he remembered that last night had been the first night of the full moon. Peter had been out. Had he come back? Was he still shifted? Wouldn’t he be tired?

 

“You’re up early,” Derek commented as he came to the door. As usual, Derek could hear, see, and smell Stiles before Stiles was at all aware of him. Derek flicked on the lights and Stiles blinked in the brightness. When he saw Derek more clearly, he saw that even Derek, who’d stayed home, looked a little rough. Perhaps he hadn’t slept well, or perhaps the pull of the moon was exhausting in and of itself. Apart from a certain grogginess and stubble though, Derek seemed himself. There was no sign of the wolf lurking under his skin.

 

Derek picked Stiles up and carried him over to the rocking chair, though Stiles hadn’t been at all clingy. Perhaps it was Derek who needed it that morning, Stiles thought, so he laid his head against Derek’s shoulder as Derek rocked them.

 

“I suppose we should get you changed and dressed,” Derek said into the silence. “What do you say we take a walk after breakfast?”

 

“Okay, Daddy.”

 

Derek carried Stiles over to his changing table and set to work. He wasn’t rushed, but he wasn’t overly teasing like he normally would be. Stiles could almost feel his exhaustion in every slow touch.

 

When they moved down the stairs, it was in total darkness and Stiles clung to Derek’s neck just a little tighter, though clearly Derek could see well in the dark. He flicked on the kitchen lights and Stiles realized from the still silence in the house that Peter must not be up. This was a first.

 

“Where’s Uncle Peter?” Stiles asked curiously. Was he still out? In bed?

 

“He’s in his room, sweetheart. He got in late last night after his run. But don’t you worry. He’ll be up in a few hours and he’ll definitely be ready for play time this afternoon.”

 

Stiles hadn’t really been worried about _that,_ though he had been vaguely concerned that Peter might not be back, or might not be feeling well. This was off of their usual routine, though Stiles realized that if this would happen every month he’d have to get used to this routine as well.

 

Derek puttered around the kitchen, fixing Stiles his bottle first, as he set out some supplies for cold cereal while the formula warmed. The house was always quiet in the morning, but Stiles realized he’d gotten used to rising early in a house of early risers. Aside from his very first morning there, Derek and Peter had been up and about before him.

 

Now, with one of their trio missing, it was even more silent than usual. The house felt musty and cold, somehow imparting the feeling that no one had yet moved through it that day. And as they’d been the first to turn on the kitchen light, no one yet had turned on a light in the living room, so the adjoining doorway was dark still as the sun struggled over the horizon. He’d never noticed before the little ways that Peter and Derek warmed up the house before they brought him down in the mornings.

 

Derek finished putting together his bottle and scooped him out of his chair to eat. Stiles snuggled against him while he sucked, wanting to comfort Derek as much as Derek comforted him. Maybe they should lie down together. Derek certainly seemed in need of a nap this time.

 

Stiles finished his breakfast and had to tolerate only scant minutes in his high chair as he took his Adderall while Derek had a bowl of cereal, and then the dishes were left uncharacteristically in the sink to be dealt with later. The sun was rising now and the early morning sounds of birds could be heard. Derek scooped up Stiles, saving his feet from the cold dew of the ground for now as they made their way into the forest. Immediately, Stiles could sense a difference in Derek’s energy. He seemed simultaneously more awake and calmer as he took in the sights, sounds, and smells of his woods. Stiles could only wonder what it was he was picking up on in their surroundings. But apparently the wilderness was enough to put him at ease.

 

When they got to the stream, Derek set him down for Stiles to wander at his own pace or play, though Stiles noticed Derek take his shirt off and stuff some of it into the back pocket of his pants. Then for the second time ever, Stiles watched as Derek shifted into his werewolf form. Still humanoid, but with fangs and fur, and glinting blue eyes. It was still somewhat frightening to behold, on a primal level, though Stiles couldn’t imagine ever actually fearing Derek. And as he paid close attention, he could see that the wolf seemed relieved by the shift, as if he’d been holding it back, and had now returned to a more natural state.

 

Derek’s remaining clothes seemed strained against his bulk and horribly out of place, but Stiles guessed that Derek hadn’t really planned on wolfing out on their walk. Otherwise, he would have stripped bare before they’d left, as they had on Sunday.

 

Stiles tried to focus instead on the environment around him and entertain himself, giving Derek a bit of privacy. Though of course now the shift was on his mind. He remembered how different Peter looked from Derek, as the Alpha. Almost entirely animal.

 

Peter had said he would knot Stiles in his Beta-shift. Though Stiles hadn’t seen it, he could infer that it would be something closer to what Derek looked like when he shifted. But he’d also promised that some day, at some point, he’d mount Stiles as an Alpha. If he wanted it. Stiles shuddered. He felt he shouldn’t want it, but he couldn’t deny the appeal.

 

After Stiles had had his fill of wandering around and investigating nature, Derek shifted back to his human form and began to steer them back toward the house, now holding Stiles’ hand to guide him with slow steps in deference to his tender bare feet. It was mid-morning when they finally returned, and Stiles was sweaty and tired from his time outdoors.

 

The house was brighter now with the sun streaming in all the windows, but it was still quiet and Stiles saw no signs of Peter. He could only assume the Alpha was still asleep upstairs, recovering from a busy night.

 

Derek got Stiles a sippy cup of water and settled him on the floor to finish colouring his picture from before. The image of the crying boy with the rosy bottom stirred his imagination just as much now as it had before. But really what was on Stiles’ mind was one thing: his time with Peter after his nap. The morning hours seemed to drag by as he thought about it.

 

It didn’t take him long to finish his picture, and when he held it up to show Derek, Derek simply told him he’d done a good job and didn’t ask him to colour another. He seemed to realize that Stiles could use a distraction of some sort.

 

“How about I read you a story?” he offered.

 

“Okay.” Stiles perked up slightly, giving a small smile.

 

Derek situated them both on the couch comfortably, and retrieved _Heidi_ to pick up where he’d left off. It wasn’t a bad story, Stiles decided, even if it didn’t totally captivate his imagination. He wondered whether there would come a time when Derek would ask for his input in choosing a book, perhaps at a store if Derek didn’t have any good ones. He still wasn’t sure what all was on the bookshelves and there never seemed to be a good time to inspect them.

 

Stiles curled up next to Derek and sipped at his water as Derek read on in steady tones. He paid half attention, but he couldn’t help letting his mind wander to the thick supernatural tome Peter often selected, and the pictures he’d seen inside of it. His hole clenched on nothing as he thought about it.

 

Derek paused in his reading after a time and buried his nose against Stiles’ head and neck to breathe in. He was almost becoming accustomed to these strange werewolf behaviours at this point, and didn’t question what Derek was doing.

 

“You smell aroused,” Derek remarked with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Are you having trouble paying attention, baby? I don’t think _Heidi_ is the height of erotic fiction.”

 

Stiles squirmed and bit down on his sippy cup to keep from having to respond. He didn’t have to answer if his mouth was full, right?

 

“I know you’re excited for this afternoon,” Derek told him patiently, “but we can’t stop and play with your slutty hole every time you have an urge. You’d never do anything else.”

 

Stiles flushed from head to toe at the dirty talk. God, Derek would have to say something like that, wouldn’t he?

 

“What would help you?” Derek prompted him, setting _Heidi_ aside. “Do you want to play with your blocks? Your action figures? Do you need to colour some more?”

 

Now that attention had been called to his arousal, Stiles lost all hope of keeping it in check. He’d thought he’d been doing an okay job of keeping up with _Heidi_. He really just wanted Derek to go back to the book so that they could both pretend Stiles wasn’t distracted and turned on.

 

But Derek seemed to expect an answer from him this time. Of the possibilities Derek had listed, only the blocks seemed safe. After all, the colouring book was pornographic and whenever he had the action figures he was helpless to keep his mind from turning dirty with them. Jesus. Maybe he was a little slut. He closed his eyes for a moment in embarrassment. He should ask for his blocks, but he knew they’d be useless. They could barely keep his attention at the best of times.

 

“Colour,” Stiles answered shyly, still idly chewing on the mouth of his sippy cup. At least colouring took some concentration to stay in the lines. Even having had his meds, his ADD was still present, and at times he couldn’t be relied upon to simply discipline his mind. Today apparently was one of those days.

 

Derek set him up to colour once again and then wandered into the kitchen to work towards lunch, Stiles suspected, and maybe do his scant dishes that still remained from breakfast. In the living room on the rug, Stiles stared at the pornographic colouring book before him. It wasn’t helping his situation at all. Though with his snug new cock cage, he realized that his cock didn’t so much as twitch in its confines. No, it was his hole that itched to be filled up.

 

Stiles flipped open the colouring book to the first un-coloured page he could find. This one he didn’t even identify with, and he felt a bit relieved at that. It was a bit safer than the others. For in this picture there was a little girl instead of a little boy, and she was simply dressed in some sort of frilly lingerie. As Stiles was firmly male, he didn’t even think much about what he was colouring as he worked, and by degrees he began to calm back down.

 

Stiles looked up as he heard a sound on the stairs. Peter was awake, and on his way down, perhaps lured by the smells of cooking emanating from the kitchen. Stiles heard a few mumbled words pass between Peter and Derek in the kitchen, and then Peter was padding out into the living room to check on him. He was more rumpled than Stiles had ever seen him, his clothes somehow less than pristine on his form. His feet were bare and his face still soft from sleep.

 

“Peter!” Stiles said happily, smiling at the sight of him. He felt a little flash of relief at the sight of the man. Though he’d known Peter was only asleep, he hadn’t realized until now that it threw him off not to see him in the morning. Seeing him now reassured Stiles that everything in his world was fine.

 

“Hello, darling. What are you colouring there?” Peter asked, crouching down onto the rug beside him. He leaned his back against the couch and stretched his legs out in front of him as he surveyed Stiles’ latest work, the half-coloured girl in cutesy lingerie.

 

Stiles shrugged, and made a vague “I don’t know.” sound in his throat, as the picture was of no real consequence.

 

“Hmm. What a pretty girl she is,” Peter mused. “Do you think she’s pretty, Stiles?”

 

“I guess,” Stiles answered vaguely.

 

“Do you think you’d like to wear pretty things sometimes?” Peter speculated.

 

Stiles blinked at Peter in surprise, then wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Those are for girls,” he held.

 

“Are they?” Peter asked curiously. “You’re allowed to want pretty things too, if you like,” Peter offered casually. Peter’s sharp eyes watched Stiles for any reaction to the suggestion, and no doubt his sensitive ears were homed in on Stiles’ heartbeat as well. “Or would you like to be my pretty little girl sometimes?” he speculated.

 

Stiles’ heart-rate shot up at the mere suggestion. He’d never, not in a million years, considered cross dressing or gender bending of any sort. It felt dangerous for Peter to even suggest it. Wrong somehow. But then, Peter wasn’t suggesting that he treat Stiles as a girl _all_ the time. And these days, a dangerous suggestion had a way of mixing up in Stiles’ head with arousal.

 

Peter grinned wolfishly at him. “I could get you cloth diapers instead, sweetheart, and some plastic pants that look very frilly like in this picture. Do you want to be pretty for Uncle Peter? Let me touch your little pussy? Or play with your sweet little button?” he asked.

 

Stiles felt dizzy at the implication. He squirmed, feeling how snug his cock cage was between his legs, how his penis was in fact little more than a button these days.

 

“Stop winding him up before lunch,” Derek said from the door, and Peter wrinkled his nose in irritation as he relented, setting the colouring book aside. “Food’s ready,” Derek told him, and moved to scoop Stiles off the floor to feed him as well.

 

Normally, Stiles thought that in spite of being half wolf, Derek and Peter ate fairly typical, well balanced meals. Today though, Derek had broke out the meat, and there was a pot roast that had apparently been in the slow cooker that he’d missed entirely. Peter seemed voracious as he tore into his own portion while Derek deferred eating in order to give Stiles his formula.

 

Stiles drank his bottle with half his attention on just how animalistically Peter tore into his meat, considering that the man was usually the height of manners and social decorum. It was fascinating to behold. And once Stiles had finished with his own meal, he got to see Derek tear into lunch with similar hunger. Even in their fully human forms, the wolf seemed to be just under the surface of their skin.

 

Stiles’ observations were cut short though when Derek finished with his food, and it was time for his nap. How he could ever be expected to sleep when today was so exciting, Stiles had no idea, but he didn’t argue when Derek settled him into the crib and pulled the drapes against the midday sun.

 

~~~

 

Stiles slept fitfully, and his eyes sprung open at the first sounds of Derek entering his room. It felt as if no time had actually passed, though his bladder was now full and his body heavy from sleep. He wet himself and felt the unique sensation of peeing while caged, the urine flowing close to his body and over his bare, depilated skin.

 

Stiles immediately reached up his arms beseechingly and Derek’s mouth quirked with a smile. “Is someone eager for play time?” he teased, knowing the obvious answer.

 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles agreed.

 

“Alright. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Derek picked Stiles up and wasted no time in laying him out on the changing table, pulling his onesie entirely off as it wouldn’t be needed any longer. Then he set about pulling off the soiled diaper and cleaning the mess.

 

Derek deftly removed Stiles’ cock cage, and Stiles squirmed at the press of a wet wipe directly against his cock. He was so used to the snug fit of his cage, it almost felt strange when he was out of it anymore. How quickly he’d adjusted to a new normal. In just a moment, though, he was clean and dry and the cage was snugged neatly back in place before he could even consider becoming properly aroused from the attention.

 

Then came the fun part. Derek lingered around his balls first, smoothing the lotion into his bare skin with careful attention, for considerably longer than he needed to of course. Stiles panted and squirmed his legs, curling his toes at the attention and wanting more.

 

“Daddy,” he said breathlessly, trying to urge Derek to further attention. Derek deftly produced a pacifier from seemingly nowhere and pressed it into Stiles’ open mouth.

 

“Shh. Let Daddy put some lotion on you, sweetheart,” Derek shushed him and then continued to work him over as Stiles helplessly sucked his pacifier.

 

He whimpered as Derek’s finger finally slid back along his crack, between his cheeks, but Derek took his time with penetration, first teasing around and against his furled hole. Any time Stiles fussed or squirmed, Derek backed off. “Just relax,” Derek urged him, so Stiles did his best to go limp and settle into the teasing sensations. When Derek finally pressed a finger into him he moaned and all but melted into the changing table.

 

“There, now. Isn’t it better when you wait and let Daddy take care of you?” Derek asked rhetorically as he gently pushed his finger in and out.

 

One finger became two, and Stiles felt the heat of arousal across his skin. But then the air almost vibrated with a nearly sub-vocal sound emanating from downstairs. A growl, a howl, a call of some sort surely. Derek immediately stiffened as his eyes flashed supernaturally blue. He pulled his fingers out of Stiles’ hole as Stiles went still with confusion. Was that Peter? What did it mean?

 

Derek scooped Stiles up with a smile, though, and Stiles felt some of his apprehension drain. “Sounds like your Alpha is getting impatient,” he shared, as if it were a fun secret between them and not wholly obvious. Derek headed down the stairs where Stiles saw Peter positioned as usual, shifted into a Beta form and massively erect.

 

Stiles’ eyes went wide with fear and he swallowed thickly. He whimpered a little and curled against Derek but Derek simply handed him off to Peter’s demanding hands. Peter grinned wolfishly at Stiles’ worry. “Don’t be scared, little one. You’re more than ready for this. You were practically born for it.”

 

Derek quickly shrugged off his remaining clothes and shifted to Beta wolf himself as Peter laid Stiles back against the cushions, fingers already drenched in lube and pressing into Stiles’ hole insistently. Peter had never been the patient one and Stiles struggled with the overwhelming stretch and rub as Peter finger fucked him roughly, twisting and scissoring his fingers to loosen him up expediently.

 

Stiles keened and kicked his feet a bit against the couch cushions at the rough attention, his libido in overdrive. It was too much, too fast. He couldn’t process it, and he looked to Derek desperately as if he would step in to save him. But Derek’s eyes were hooded with lust as well, and Stiles found himself face to face with two wolves. Derek curled onto the couch , tucking his thighs beneath Stiles’ head with a lustful growl as Peter pumped more lube into his hand and then started working a third finger into Stiles’ hole.

 

Claw tipped hands skirted over Stiles’ chest as Derek rubbed the flats of his thumbs over his nipples, causing his breath to hitch.

 

“Don’t tear him,” Derek warned, and Peter’s eyes flashed Alpha red in offence.

 

“Hold his ankles. He’s kicking,” Peter ordered gruffly.

 

“Be good,” Derek admonished lightly as he caught Stiles’ ankles and pulled his legs back and wide, making him feel all the more vulnerable to Peter’s attentions. His heart raced in his chest, and he only was able to calm himself a bit when Peter finally slowed out of necessity as Stiles struggled to accommodate the new stretch.

 

“Look at my sweet, soft boy,” Peter praised him, three fingers deep into his ass with one hand while the other played idly with his caged cock to the extent he was able. “Aren’t you just precious. You want to open up for your Uncle Peter, don’t you sweetheart?” He stretched his fingers a bit wider inside of him, then dragged the tips of his fingers over Stiles’ prostate on the out stroke.

 

Stiles whimpered and tried instinctively to kick again, but Derek’s grip on him was firm.

 

“Can you hold your toes for me, baby?” Derek asked, and Stiles blinked up at him, uncomprehending in his lust. “Come on, sweetheart. Find your feet,” Derek urged, as if he were truly an infant. The incongruity of the statement with the activities of the moment sent a spike of heat down Stiles’ spine, and he reached up shakily to grasp at his feet like a baby would. Derek released him as Stiles splayed himself wide to Peter’s ministrations. Every time the sensation overwhelmed him, he squeezed his feet harder and moaned, worrying his pacifier between his teeth.

 

“Good boy,” Derek praised him, his hands moving back to Stiles’ chest to rub and tweak at his sensitive nipples. Stiles trembled until he felt like he’d shiver apart. He was lost in a haze of lust and hardly noticed when Peter’s three fingers became four.

 

“Let me have him,” Peter said gruffly, pulling out with a wet squelch and leaving Stiles needy and hollow.

 

“He isn’t ready.”

 

“He’s ready,” Peter said firmly, and pulled Stiles off of Derek’s lap to straddle his own thighs. Stiles clung to Peter’s shoulders and closed his eyes, trying not to look at the monster cock positioned below him. But he could feel the firm push of its width against his hole. He was stretched enough, but it was massive, and he whimpered helplessly as Peter began to ease Stiles down, his cock inching its way into the boy.

 

Stiles’ thighs trembled as he tried to hold himself up, hold himself back. His guts cramped, his back cramped, it would never fit. But Peter’s grip on his hips was ironclad, and he pulled Stiles downward inexorably. Stiles let out a deep moan, and all at once his body seemed to lose the will to fight it. He went limp in Peter’s arms, still only partially impaled. A fist had nothing on this as the monster cock punched deep into his guts.

 

“Good boy,” Peter praised him, and his chest rumbled against Stiles in a satisfied sort of purr. Still, Stiles hung on him, Peter’s cock not yet fully embedded, and with Peter that just wouldn’t do. He gripped Stiles’ hips and forced him down as Stiles groaned at the new stretch, deep inside of him where preparatory fingers hadn’t even begun to reach. “There you go, sweetheart.” Peter pulled him flush and flexed inside him, then swivelled his hips to stir the erection against his stretched walls as Stiles hung like a limp doll.

 

Satisfied with Stiles’ safety, Peter began to pick up the pace, fucking into Stiles as best he could from below. His supernatural strength and stamina made the task trivial as he thrust into his boy. Stiles let out broken little whimpers and sobs around his pacifier as he was fucked more thoroughly than he’d ever been in his life. It was almost a religious experience he sensed vaguely, as his ability for coherent thinking flew away.

 

With a final harsh growl, Peter thrust inside of Stiles harshly and held him down with claw-tipped hands. Stiles wondered if he’d come for a moment, in his haze forgetting that this time would be different. Then he felt the rapid swell around the base of Peter’s cock, the stretch of a fist and more breaching him. He wailed and struggled in Peter’s grasp. It was too much! Too fast! He wasn’t ready! He was certain this time that Peter hadn’t actually been careful enough. That in spite all of his care, this time Stiles would tear. It _hurt_.

 

“Be still,” Peter told him quietly, and wrapped his arms tightly around Stiles’ body to hold him in place. His eyes glowed Alpha red for a moment, then he closed them and growled with pleasure as the knot finally expanded to its full capacity and locked inside. Peter groaned with relief as he began to pump load after load into Stiles’ obscenely stretched hole.

 

Stiles sobbed brokenly in Peter’s lap, tears flowing freely from his eyes at the ache of the stretch. It was more than he could have imagined. He couldn’t contend with it, and yet he had no choice.

 

“Good boy,” Peter told him breathlessly. “This is where you belong. On your Alpha’s knot. You like that in your greedy hole?” Peter asked, ignoring the tears. One of his hands snaked behind as he gently stroked Stiles’ tight rim and Stiles shuddered and gave a broken moan. “You love it,” Peter told him, and Stiles didn’t deny it, lost in the sensation of Peter’s stroking fingers. Peter’s hand moved around to his stomach and pressed against the outline of his cock, deep inside of Stiles’ gut. His gut which he realized was growing increasingly tight with every twitch of Peter’s cock inside of him. Just how much cum was he expected to hold?

 

“God, Stiles,” Derek said lustily as he watched on. Stiles turned his head to see Derek stroking himself slowly with a similarly massive erection, sans knot. He seemed in no hurry to get off, which made Stiles wonder how he’d be expected to assist later on. And whether there would be anything left of his brain to apply to the task.

 

Peter shifted his hips and began to rock Stiles on his knot, pressing the massive intrusion directly against Stiles’ prostate. Stiles gave a grunt, and lost himself in the feeling of it. It wasn’t long until he shivered in Peter’s lap and his caged little nub dribbled cum into their laps. “That’s it, sweetheart,” Peter encouraged him, still rocking against his now over-sensitive insides. Stiles whined but Peter shushed him. “Just let it happen,” he coaxed. “You can come again, darling.” It took some doing and was painful, but soon he was cumming dry in Peter’s lap, his stretched hole fluttering around Peter’s knot as he did so.

 

When Peter’s knot finally started to deflate, long minutes later, Stiles’ stomach was cramping and his whole body felt sapped of energy. He had stopped crying some time ago though, and his tears had half finished drying on his face. He was limp in Peter’s lap as Peter manoeuvred him, helpless as a rag doll. When Peter lifted him and pulled his deflating cock out of his stretched hole, Stiles felt himself gape open and a tremendous amount of cum rush out into Peter’s lap. He moaned tiredly at the sensation, his stomach fluttering a bit as he emptied. He could feel a distinct, stretched paunch in his lower abdomen, as if he’d been given an enema of ejaculate.

 

Peter handed him over to Derek’s care, turning him onto his stomach as Derek directed his head into his lap, pulling the pacifier away as an obvious signal. Stiles opened his mouth and let Derek guide him over the first few inches of his monstrous shaft as he suckled as much as he was able in his exhausted state. Behind him, Peter arranged his knees to splay on the cushions, propping his ass in the air so that the remaining cum inside of him had no way to run out in spite of his empty, over-stretched hole.

 

He groaned at the continued stretch to his stomach, wanting to bear down and push the ejaculate _out_ , but too sapped of energy to do so. His groan was muffled by the cock in his mouth, though, and Derek was all too eager to press more firmly inside of him, gagging him well before he’d even entered Stiles halfway. Stiles’ throat fluttered around the intrusion as he choked and he tried desperately to regulate his breathing, all the while his jaw was stretched to its capacity and his throat felt raw from Derek’s tremendous girth.

 

“That’s it, baby,” Derek encouraged him as he stroked himself off into Stiles’ gagging mouth. After so long of a wait, it took Derek little time to groan his release as Stiles almost suffocated on the cum entering his throat and mouth. He swallowed convulsively as Derek continued to hold him steady, too exhausted to even dream of pulling away on his own.

 

Derek didn’t have a knot like Peter, Stiles noted, though he supposed the knot was unique to the Alpha. Still, even without the knotting his shift seemed to increase the amount of cum. Stiles coughed and let some of it dribble out of his mouth as he tired of swallowing it, not to mention ran out of breath. But Derek simply scooped up some of the escaped ejaculate and pressed his fingers into Stiles’ lax mouth, rubbing them against his tongue as his cock continued to give the occasional pulse and release. “Swallow it all, baby,” Derek told him, and Stiles did his best to choke it down, then licked Derek clean of what he’d missed when Derek’s orgasm finally subsided.

 

He leaned his head against Derek’s thigh as Derek pet back his sweaty hair, and he felt like every cell in his body was exhausted and he was entirely fucked out. He wondered whether he’d soon be allowed to release what was inside of him, if he’d soon be cleaned up and allowed to rest, but then he felt Peter moving behind him, positioning on his knees between Stiles’ splayed legs. He turned to stare over his shoulder as much as he was able from his position in Derek’s lap, and gasped slightly at what he saw.

 

Peter had shifted at some point to his full Alpha shift. Not entirely a wolf, but far more animal than human, fur covering most of his body, and monstrous to behold. Stiles didn’t feel fear exactly, as this was simply a part of Peter, and Peter he could trust. But there was definitely some intimidation, and he couldn’t help but shudder when he saw the monstrous animal’s erect cock. Peter’s recovery time was apparently also super human.

 

Stiles heart and thoughts raced. He’d thought he’d have more time than this to get used to the idea of being fucked in Peter’s Alpha shift. It skirted a little to close to bestiality in his mind, and Peter had indicated it was something that _might_ happen, someday in the future. But now his intent was clear, and Stiles knew he’d have to get on board quickly.

 

He whimpered against Derek and cringed away nervously, as if there was anything he could do to stop what was about to happen. As if he actually wanted it to stop. He wasn’t fooling anyone. Peter braced claw-tipped, furry hands on the couch beside him and a furred chest scratched against his back as Peter’s cock slid home. He was too stretched and broken in to prevent it, though he called out as Peter shoved fully into him all in one powerful thrust. His whole body rippled and shuddered as he struggled to accommodate him, but he had no time to process.

 

Immediately the wolf behind him started to thrust viciously into him, more powerfully and faster than Peter had done in his Beta shift. And with Stiles on his knees, Peter had the leverage to press every inch of himself deeply with each thrust. This was a powerful fuck, hard and brutal as he plundered Stiles’ tender gut. Stiles knew it would leave him aching though no actual damage was being done. It took little time for him to begin his sobbing again as Derek pet him soothingly and the wolf above him growled in victory.

 

It hurt. It ached deeply and consumingly, and he felt unable to move or twitch away an inch, though his stomach also felt overly full already with Peter’s earlier release. The wet squelch now as Peter snapped his hips was obscene, and the constant drag over his prostate had Stiles shuddering in another dry orgasm helplessly, his little cock still entirely limp in its confines.

 

Peter’s knot swelled inside of him a second time, and he just continued to cry quietly in Derek’s lap, no fight inside of him. He knew now he could take the knot, and that Derek and Peter would take care of him. But that knowledge didn’t make it easier to endure, especially when he felt his stomach continue to swell with Peter’s second tremendous load. By the time Peter had finished after another twenty excruciating minutes, Stiles had come another two times himself, and his stomach was stretched tight and round against Peter’s deposit.

 

Peter shifted back into his Beta form when he regained some control, and eased out of him, careful to hold Stiles’ hips high before he could collapse from exhaustion. “Such a good boy,” Peter told him reverently. He rummaged around for a moment and Stiles was certain Peter would be looking for something to clean with, for him to evacuate into perhaps after all of that. Instead, Peter produced a terrifyingly large plug of heavy metal.

 

Stiles shivered in Derek’s embrace as Peter worked it into him, and he couldn’t believe that the thing fit. He tried not to think about how stretched out he must be.

 

With his anus sealed off and the load trapped inside of him, Peter and Derek helped manoeuvre him onto his side, his belly taut and bumped out in front of him slightly, giving him cramps. Derek rubbed it soothingly as Stiles groaned.

 

“Daddy,” Stiles rasped, his voice rough for some reason. He must have been loud. “Hurts.”

 

“It’ll be okay, sweetheart,” Derek said gently. “You’ll get used to it.”

 

“I have to go potty,” Stiles insisted weakly.

 

“You can go later,” Peter told him firmly but gently. He reached for the wipes and began cleaning himself and Stiles. “You were so good for us today, baby. And you look so sweet like this.” Peter pet the round bump of his tummy with his own warm palm.

 

Derek produced his pacifier out of the ether again and gently pressed it home. Stiles was only too happy to have something to suckle on, to soothe himself as he recovered.

 

Below his waist, Peter had begun wiping him clean. There certainly was mess this time around. He deftly removed Stiles’ cock cage, and Stiles’ cock didn’t even twitch as it was handled. He inhaled sharply at the over sensitivity to his flaccid member. Even though he hadn’t even had an erection, the continual prostate stimulation left him feeling raw.

 

“Look how small and unresponsive he is,” Peter told Derek, his voice full of wonder as he gently cupped and squeezed the soft flesh.

 

Stiles whimpered softly at the attention. There was certainly no way he was going to get an erection now. Not after all of that, and with his gut still aching, his anus stretched wide still around the heavy plug.

 

Peter leaned down and took the soft flesh into his mouth as he shifted back into his fully human form to mind his teeth, and Stiles savoured the feel of it. How long had it been since his cock had been inside of someone’s mouth? He couldn’t remember. Now, limp and small as he was, Peter seemed perfectly willing to suck gently on his unresponsive cocklette. The whole of it fit so easily into his mouth, with room for his tongue to work it. Peter sucked hard and Stiles let out a slight sound of distress at how sensitive he’d become, and Peter pulled off with a wet smack of his lips.

 

Derek reached down next to fondle the limp member, holding it gently at first and then giving it a firm squeeze, a bit of a stroke. “Perfect,” he said reverently. “What a perfect, good boy you’re being for us,” he told Stiles as he rubbed his thumb over the sensitive head of Stiles’ cock. Stiles wanted to squirm away but couldn’t seem to get his body to work much, muscles overworked and energy sapped.

 

Derek blessedly released him, and Peter finished cleaning him with a few strokes of a wipe. Then he easily affixed the snug cage back in place. Next came the lotion, though there was mostly just his balls to look after, as his ass was plugged and his cock caged away. Stiles did his best to endure the manipulation of his overworked balls as well. Then finally he was helped into a fresh, clean diaper. The plug felt even more firmly pressed into his ass once the snug diaper was taped in place.

 

Derek pulled Stiles’ onesie over his head and Peter eased it gently over the swell of Stiles’ belly and snapped it into place. Then he was sat up on the couch in the opposite corner so that Derek and Peter could finish cleaning the rest up. Only then, when he was forced to sit more or less normally, did the full weight of the plug and the ejaculate make itself known.

 

Stiles rested his hands over the taut paunch of his stomach while Derek and Peter cleaned. He felt pregnant, though the effect was considerably less dramatic in reality. His stomach cramped again, but the plug held firm. Stiles wondered how much of the ache inside of him was from the cum stretching him out, and how much was from the pummelling of Peter’s monster cock. For that matter, how much of the ache could be from stretch alone? Still, he felt fucked out and so good. And so tired.

 

When everything had been cleaned and put away, Peter curled Stiles into him, fully clothed now, and he pulled out the werewolf lore tome to read. Stiles was more than happy to cuddle and drift as he listened. The lurid imagery failed to arouse him, but never failed to capture his interest.

 

After a time, Derek joined them. When they’d finished another section of the book, Peter buried his nose in Stiles hair and inhaled, letting his breath out contentedly. “God, Derek. He smells like family. Like pack.”

 

“Of course,” Derek said easily. “If we continue to play with him, and if you knot him every full, he’ll never smell otherwise.”

 

“What do you say, darling?” Peter prompted him. “Do you want me to knot you again in the future?”

 

Did he? Stiles’ mind boggled for a moment. It had been so overwhelming, and he was still struggling with the after-effects. But the idea of doing it again... Yes. Absolutely yes. “Uh-huh,” he affirmed, snuggling closer into Peter’s side.

 

Derek snorted in amusement.

 

“Why don’t you take Stiles out to swing for a while before supper?” Derek suggested.

 

“An excellent suggestion,” Peter agreed, scooping Stiles up. His belly pressed uncomfortably into Peter’s side and the plug pressed into him under the pressure of Peter’s arm beneath his bottom. He clung to Peter’s neck just the same. He was glad at least that he wouldn’t be expected to take a walk before supper time, as he didn’t think that he had the energy. Or the balance, with everything going on with his body.

 

The swing as always was fun, and it helped to momentarily distract Stiles from his physical discomfort as his body adjusted slowly but surely to the new demands put upon it. When he was sweaty and breathless, the afternoon had been whiled away and it was time already to eat. He wondered how long they’d had sex for after his nap. How long they’d read, how long he’d swung for. Time seemed to be slipping away.

 

“Come on, pup,” Peter told him. “Time to get a bottle into you.” He settled them down at the kitchen table while Derek continued to putter around. The bottle was ready and Peter leaned Stiles back in his arms in the usual position. But Stiles couldn’t imagine trying to eat now. Not when his stomach was still aching, and he felt uncomfortably full in his bowels. He already was used to using his diaper around now. Today, he felt more than a slight urge to finally relieve himself and evacuate.

 

“Not hungry.” He pouted as Peter pulled his pacifier away.

 

Peter’s face took on a stern look. “Ah-ah. I won’t have you fussing. I know your tummy feels full right now but it’s not. That’s in your lower intestine, and you still need to eat. After supper you’ll be allowed to go.” Peter pressed the bottle to Stiles’ mouth before he could make any sort of further argument, and he dutifully began to suck, feeling his stomach fill even more with every swallow. When he finished his supper, he felt stuffed and heavy, and exhausted from the effort.

 

“Good boy,” Peter praised, and moved Stiles into his high chair.

 

Stiles gave into the pressure on his bladder and relieved himself into his diaper but it wasn’t nearly enough. “Peter I have to go,” he insisted.

 

“We’ll clean you out at bath time, sweetheart,” Derek told him. “After supper. Peter why don’t you give him a change into a dry diaper? By the time you get back I’ll have our food ready.”

 

Peter scooped Stiles up and headed up the stairs with him, and laid him out on the familiar changing table to quickly and efficiently clean him up. Stiles desperately wanted some relief but Peter ignored the plug and simply got him clean and dry once again. Once he was back in his chair and his guardians had begun to eat, Stiles found himself with a full sippy cup once again as well, and the expectation that he finish all of his water before his bath. It only added to the over-stuffed, sloshing sensation in his tummy, but he did his best.

 

Finally, at long last Peter and Derek finished eating. With little to distract him, Stiles felt fit to burst.

 

"Should we head up now and do the dishes later?" Derek suggested, and Peter nodded, already reaching to lift Stiles from his chair.

 

"What do you say?" Peter asked Stiles. "Ready to get nice and clean?"

 

"Yes, please," Stiles answered softly, eager for relief.

 

Upstairs, in the bathroom, Derek laid out a towel and Peter laid out Stiles atop it to pull off his onesie and diaper once more, exposing his taut, round belly. Peter couldn't resist pressing his palm against it once again, smoothing the flat of his hand over the small mound with a satisfied look in his eyes. Then Stiles' cock cage was removed, and he was helped, for the first time since arriving there, onto the toilet. Derek reached between his legs and grasped the base of the metal plug, then with steady pressure, he pulled, forcing Stiles' over-stretched rim to stretch just that last bit more to release it.

 

The moment the plug was free, Stiles grunted as he felt a rush of cum slosh out of him, as it wetly hit the bowl below. His cheeks heated in mortification but he was helpless against the spasms of his body as it tried to evacuate itself from the excess pressure. He groaned as he cramped, and Derek rubbed his hand over Stiles stomach soothingly as he helped Stiles push it out. Stiles felt so weak that he did little pushing on his own, and mostly endured.

 

"That's it," Derek encouraged him for long minutes while Stiles continued to empty out. By the time he felt finished, he was sweaty and trembling from exertion. Derek wiped him and laid him out on the towel again, propped on his side, and pulled up his knee to expose his hole to Peter.

 

At first he thought Peter was just checking for stretching or tearing, but he'd been so consumed with his evacuation he'd missed what Peter had been preparing. He felt a plug snug into him again, and then the oddest sensation travelling within him. Looking over his shoulder a bit he saw it was a worryingly long hose, and he squirmed and whimpered.

 

"No," he complained faintly.

 

"Shh," Peter shushed him. "It's not going to hurt you." Derek turned Stiles’ head back away from the sight as Peter continued to work the hose into him. "This is just to help clean you out after you've held so much inside you for so long."

 

With the hose inserted to Peter's satisfaction, he hooked it up to the end of the enema bag he'd prepared and flipped the valve to release the flow into Stiles. Stiles closed his eyes, not wanting to see just how much water they would put into him. Derek continued to pet his hair as the water flowed, and he realized as the minutes ticked by that it was a lot of water, and it was really deep inside. His stomach swelled again and he let out a soft sound of distress.

 

"Almost done," Peter assured him, and Stiles tried to focus on Derek's soothing hands instead for just a few more minutes. When the flow stopped, Peter pulled the hose free and sealed off the plug. Then they moved Stiles into the tub and began to fill it with hot water.

 

"You just need to sit with it for a little while," Derek told him. "Let's wash your hair and your body while we wait," he suggested. Stiles was subdued as Peter and Derek doted on him, taking gentle care as they cleaned.

 

Only when the last suds were rinsed away was Stiles helped, still wet, out of the tub to plop on the toilet, and Derek reached back to release the plug again. The water rushed out of him immediately, and Stiles could feel that even among the copious amounts of water there was fecal matter. By the time he had emptied, he was weak as a kitten as Derek wiped him clean and put him back into the bath. Peter had added fresh hot water during his ordeal, and he sighed at the welcome heat as he was allowed to soak for just a moment.

 

For the final step, as always Derek wanted to wash his hole. He leaned up against the ledge of the tub as Derek gently worked the soapy cloth along his crack, fingers testing for any signs of pain or distress. Stiles was sore, but nothing was truly painful. And he was still stretched wide as bath water easily slipped into the gape, followed by one of Derek's cloth-clad fingers, the rough fabric and soap chafing and stinging a bit at his overworked hole, even as Derek was infinitely gentle with him.

 

The stimulation though, even after everything, felt good. Stiles didn't squirm away as he sometimes would. Instead he let out a little moan, half over-sensitivity and half pleasure. He gripped the tub, and caught Peter's grin.

 

Derek carefully rinsed any soap residue from his hole with a probing finger, and then Stiles was lifted from the tub once more to be bundled in a fluffy towel by Peter. He was almost sleeping on his feet he was so tired, so it was a relief when he was deemed dry enough to lie down for diapering.

 

Peter fit his cage in place with no difficulty and lotioned him well, slippery fingers probing carefully at his overworked hole as he inspected Stiles thoroughly for any signs of damage, and tested his elasticity. Stiles hummed out a sleepy moan at the attention. Now that his bowels were empty and the heavy plug had been removed, now that his body was heavy from the hot water and he was ready to sleep, the stimulation felt more pleasant than bothersome. Even after everything.

 

"No damage?" Derek checked.

 

"No damage," Peter confirmed, easing in a second finger as he gently finger fucked his sleepy boy. "Look at him, Derek. He was made for this."

 

"If you keep that up," Derek warned him, "you're just going to make him mess again."

 

Stiles wasn't so certain whether he'd recovered enough to ejaculate, but he was certainly getting worked up despite Peter's gentle touch.

 

Still, Peter took Derek's advice and eased his slippery fingers free and did up Stiles' diaper, then put him in his night clothes.

 

"I know you're sleepy, but you've got to brush your teeth," Derek told Stiles as he was helped to stand up. Stiles could barely keep himself upright as he finished his evening ablutions, and was happy to have Derek scoop him up to carry him into his room and transfer him into his crib.

 

He curled around his bunny, his eyes already falling closed. His gut and his hole had a delicious ache in them, and he felt ready for the sleep of the dead. And if he wasn't entirely mistaken about what day it was, tomorrow meant pancakes. As Stiles drifted off to sleep that night, he knew he'd never been happier.


End file.
